Cubs
by Tobias Umbra
Summary: How did Fox become Fox? How did Wolf become Wolf? And how did a scientist known as Andross come to threaten the freedom of an entire galaxy? A darker perspective on what happened before the Lylat Wars that shaped two cubs that would become bitter rivals.
1. What I Learned From Daddy

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here we are again. I just can't get enough of StarFox for some reason. For those of you returning faithful readers, and those of you newcomers, I'd like to welcome you to my second StarFox fan fiction, a companion piece to my surprisingly well-received story, "A Great Day To Die". This was written, mainly because I've noticed a lack of well thought-out stories of the past of Fox and Wolf, and because I wanted to offer my own take. Since I don't want it to get boring, however, "Cubs" is basically 7 separate short stories, glimpses into the past of the StarFox universe from my own dark perspective (MUHAHAHAHA). You can feel free to fill in the blanks. Here, we'll see pivotal events in Wolf and Fox's young lives, and also, some gaze into the rise of the controversial figure known as Andross. If enough people love this, I might be inspired to write a full-fledged sequel to "A Great Day To Die", instead of just a prequel. Who knows?

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-**What I Learned From Daddy**-

"Ya' got ta' connect this here coupling ta' the output line from th' main generator, and ya' gotta be _real _careful 'bout that, or else yer' gonna end up fryin' yer' fuckin' fur off, ya' hear? Ya' mess that up 'n we'll be servin' yer' barbequed ass up with sum' cheese whiz an' Tabasco sauce, ya' understand?"

There was no reply.

The muscular, dark grey wolf looked over to the doorway of the dim equipment shed, to see his five year-old son crouched on the ferroconcrete floor, staring up at the dusty brown sky.

"WOLF!!" the father bellowed, catching the young grey cub by surprise, "You listinin' ta' me, boy?!"

Wolf O'Donnell's two tiny lavender eyes met his father's imposing brownish-gold gaze, his mouth open slightly in an expression of befuddlement.

Wolf's father threw his head back and laughed, slapping the large fusion generator at his side.

"Ya' look like sum' little chimpo thas' just had it's banana stolen! HAHAHAA!" his father barked.

Wolf picked himself up with as much dignity as a scruffy little wolf cub could, protesting loudly, "I aint no ape, Daddy! Don't call me that!"

"Might as well be," his father shot back, "If ya' aint good fer' anythin', how ya' gonna find a girl that's gonna go out with ya? Might as well get some little chimpo-slut wife and start splicin' if yer' just gonna put yer' head in the clouds."

"I _aint_ good fer' nothin', Daddy!" Wolf snapped.

"Then pay fuckin' attention, boy!" his father snarled, jabbing a clawed finger towards a disconnected output line feeding off from the fusion generator.

There was a sad look on Wolf's face for a moment, but he nodded and scooted forward. His father smirked and nodded, and Wolf avoided eye contact.

Wolf's father leaned forward, putting a hand on Wolf's shoulder. Wolf tensed up a bit, then relaxed.

"Now, here's tha' output line from tha' generator, an' here's tha' input line tha' leads out ta' tha' moisture vaporators an' tha' feedin' systems fer tha' sheep, okay?" his father instructed, "Yer output line from tha' generator's hot. Why can't we turn tha' generator off?"

Wolf stared at the coupling pensively, then at the cold fusion generator, a large cylinder giving off a cold blue glow.

"'Cause it'll kill the fusion reaction?" Wolf answered unsurely.

"Thas' righ'," his father replied, "Shut it off and we're outta' power fer tha' next month while we're waitin' fer an engineer ta' come up an' restart tha' fusion reaction. Ya gotta' handle it hot."

Wolf nodded with a vague smile, his eyes wide.

"So, take tha' input line by tha' base 'a tha' coupling. Careful ya' don't touch the end, or--"

"Barbeque," Wolf interrupted quietly.

"Thas' righ'," his father said, "Don't you be sassin' me, boy."

"Yessir," Wolf nodded, wrapping his small hands around the coupling base.

"I'm gonna hold up tha' input line, an' you connect tha' two. Doncha mess up, ya hear?" his father intoned.

"Yes, Daddy," Wolf nodded.

His father held up the thick input line, and Wolf heaved the output coupling upwards, grunting a little bit because of the heaviness of the line. Wolf carefully looked at the output plug and the input socket, lining them up carefully, and then slowly pushing output to input. The two couplings connected with a light snap.

"Alrigh, now we got tha' power conduit runnin. We just gotta' seal tha' line. Grab tha' plasma cutter from tha' toolbox now," Wolf's father instructed.

"Yes, Daddy," Wolf said, taking his hands off of the power conduit and shuffling over to the bright red toolbox behind him, wrapping his hands around a thick silver cylinder the size of a flashlight.

"Alrigh, now set it ta' 'weld' an' put it against tha' sides a' tha' coupling."

Wolf did so.

"Now, press tha' button, an' work it around tha' sides a' tha' coupling real slow like," his father instructed.

Wolf pressed the button and saw a small triangular blade of plasma rise from the end of the plasma cutter, and he carefully touched the beam against the sides of the coupling where input met output. The metal heated up rapidly, melting and fusing together in an orange glow.

"Ya' know, ya' can _build_ one a' these plasma cutters pretty easily," his father informed him as he worked, "I can teach ya' how someday"

Wolf carefully worked the plasma cutter around the coupling, biting his bottom lip as he concentrated, his pointed canine ears perking upwards at attention.

The mix of blue and orange light cast an eerie glow on the young cub's face, and he seemed, for once, at ease.

Wolf completed the circle and pressed the button once more, deactivating the plasma cutter.

In a minute, the metal cooled and hardened into an airtight seal.

"Not too bad, son," Wolf's father grunted, scratching the cub between the ears.

Wolf's scruffy tail wagged slightly.

"Are we done, Daddy?" Wolf inquired, looking up at his father.

"Yeah, we're done fer now. Go on an' play now," his father instructed.

The two exited the utility shed, walking out into the dim sun of mid-afternoon, their feet crunching on the dusty dirt of the Katinan outback. Out in the sunlight, one could see the difference between father and son, the stockier, darker-furred father next to his somewhat lanky son. Wolf wore a loose-fitting white shirt over a tan sheepskin vest and shorts, while his father was shirtless, dressed in a pair of blue working pants with construction boots. The large, crushing footprints left by his father's boots were decidedly different from the light paw-prints left by Wolf's bare feet.

Fifty meters ahead of them was a homestead dominated by a large wooden farmhouse. Standing on the porch was a slightly obese and pregnant female wolf, wearing little more than a sports-bra and a pink skirt.

"Hank!" the female called.

"What, Luann?" Wolf's father responded.

"Hey, momma!" Wolf called to Luann.

Luann O'Donnell just nodded in his direction, her attention squarely on Hank.

"I need ya' ta' help me wit' somethin'…" Luann trailed off, groping her breast with one hand and sliding another over her belly and into her skirt.

"Ya' gotta itch, mom?" Wolf called, not understanding the message Luann was relating to Hank.

"Yeah, hon. One yer' Daddy needs ta' scratch," Luann answered.

A small amount of drool escaped from Hank O'Donnell's jaws as he grinned, laughing a little bit. Something in his pants grew stiff.

"Ya' stay out here an' play wit' yer' brothers an' sisters, alrigh' Wolf?" his father growled, his eyes locked on Luann.

"Yes, Daddy," Wolf nodded.

Without another word, Hank followed Luann into the farmhouse.

Wolf took off around the farmhouse, over to the jagged ravine and dry lakebed that his twelve older siblings could be found playing in.

As he walked, Wolf stared up into the dusty brown sky, the sun a bright grey spot hidden by thick clouds. A stray Katina sand hawk flew overhead, and Wolf wondered what it might be like to fly.

He was barely around the corner when a juvenile voice called, "Hey, Merch!"

Wolf paused and turned around to see a seven year-old wolf with slightly brownish-tan fur leaning against the wooden farmhouse. He wore a sheepskin outfit similar to Wolf's.

"I aint' Merch!" Wolf snapped indignantly.

"Who can tell tha' two a' you apart?! Ya' jus' ten months younger", the wolf cub shrugged.

"Shut up, Fenris!" Wolf growled at his brother.

Fenris merely smiled.

Just as Wolf was about to turn around, he heard Fenris quip, "Wanna wrestle?"

A second passed, then a grin appeared on Wolf's face. He'd wrestled Fenris (along with most of his other siblings) before.

Wolf lost.

But Wolf was always ready for a rematch.

"I'm gonna beat yer tail red," Fenris warned.

Wolf didn't reply, waiting for a perfect moment. Even from a young age, Wolf knew how to size up an opponent. Fenris had about six inches and twenty pounds over Wolf, but Wolf knew from watching his brothers fight that size wasn't everything. When you got in close, size was more of a liability. Fenris liked to talk, and taunt, and tease. That was a weakness, too.

"I dunno why ya' just keep tryin', Wolf," Fenris shrugged, "Ya' know we're always gonna beat you. Shoot, I wouldn't be surprised if one a' us ends up killin' ya' someday. Maybe you oughta stop an' play with the _girls_."

As he talked, Fenris rolled his eyes, shaking his head and looking up at the sky. It was all that Wolf needed.

"I'm sure that Sally an' Aza wanna baby doll they can play--" Fenris began to taunt, but by that time Wolf had already sprung forward and grabbed a hold of his face, shoving his head into the side of the house with a yell of fury.

Fenris' head bumped into the house with a minor amount of force, enough to make Wolf's older brother scream out loud.

Fenris jostled forward, knocking Wolf to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Wolf watched as his older brother dove towards him, and rolled to the side, letting Fenris fall into the dirt.

He delivered a gratifying kick to Fenris' stomach, despite the small sting it gave Wolf's bare foot. An enraged Fenris sat up and lunged at Wolf, grabbing him by the shoulders and straddling him. Wolf tried to sit up, only to have Fenris shove him back down hard, slamming the back of Wolf's head into the ground. Fenris raised a fist and slugged down into Wolf's nose.

The impact was like a supernova; an exploding star of pain in the middle of Wolf's face. His eyes instinctively squinted shut, and even then, Wolf saw red. He could feel the blood pouring out of his nose and the tears coming out of his eyes, but he fought the urge to cry. He wouldn't let Fenris see him whimper. It would only make Fenris hit him more.

"Told ya you were a pussy!" Fenris spat as Wolf opened his eyes, "Mama thought ya' were unlucky 'cause ya' were her thirteenth kid. Yer unlucky _and_ a pansy! Go on an' cry now!"

Wolf's eyes narrowed, and he felt a low growl rising up from his gut. A deep snarl escaped from his jaws, so low and intimidating that Fenris' eyes showed an expression of fear, even though he was clearly winning.

For the first time in his life, something took over in Wolf.

It was like he instinctively knew just how to hurt Fenris, just how to win, just how to make him suffer. More than that, he _wanted _to do it.

Wolf gave off a feral hiss as he went into action, his limbs moving faster than they ever had before. His left arm swatted Fenris' hand off of his shoulder, the other grabbed the side of his face and swiped him to the side. Fenris fell off of Wolf and onto the ground, and in less than a second, Wolf was on top of his older brother.

Fenris tried to grab Wolf's throat, only to have Wolf grab Fenris by the wrist and sink his teeth into his arm. Fenris began to scream, but was cut off as Wolf gripped Fenris' bottom jaw and shoved hard upwards, forcing Fenris to bite down on his own tongue and driving the back of his brother's head into the dirt, all the while biting down ever harder.

Wolf felt the moment as his teeth broke Fenris' skin and the taste of blood flowed into his mouth, which only fueled his frenzy. Fenris tried to grab ahold of Wolf's ear, to which Wolf responded by slamming Fenris' head into the ground once more, then again and again in an almost piston-like motion. With all of the strength left in his arm, Wolf plowed his older brother's head into the ground harder than ever before, eliciting a cry of agony from Fenris. Wolf tore his jaws away from Fenris' arm like he was eating a chicken leg, stripping a layer of flesh off of his older brother's arm as he ripped his teeth free. Fenris began to scream out loud, tears pouring from his eyes. He put up his hands in surrender, his mouth contorted in a whimpering sulk of terror. Wolf sat, straddled on top of his brother, breathing hard as he took in his victory.

His eyes were swollen to almost fish-like proportions.

The pads of his paws secreted a film of cold sweat.

His heart jackhammered in his chest.

Then he saw the torrents of blood oozing from Fenris' arm, from his mouth; the tears flowing from the ducts in his eyes. Covered in dust and tears and blood and fear, his enemy was totally decimated, and though there was something beautiful about it to Wolf, he finally remembered that this was, after all, his own brother.

Fenris began to sob, "Please, just stop!" his further expressions being merely bawls of distress and dread.

Wolf's heart calmed. His adrenaline ran out. His brain cooled.

Here was his elder, two years older than him, reduced to a bloody, scraped up mess, from merely seconds of intense fighting. That bite on his arm looked horrible. He really had to get help for that.

Fenris began to scream for help, the waterworks seriously beginning to run from his tear ducts. Wolf leapt off of his brother, almost scared of what he had done. At the same time, however, there was a sense of pride.

_This is what I can do_, Wolf thought, _…Wow…_

Wolf got to his feet and ran back around the farmhouse, frantic to find someone that knew how to make his older brother better. He sprinted over the porch, his bare feet slapping the wood with a hollow echo, throwing open the door to the farmhouse and rushing inside. The dim light panels of the house created eerie shadows on the wall as Wolf scurried down the hallway and over to the door of his parent's room.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Wolf cried as he kicked the door open.

There was a startled gasp as Wolf saw his parents, both naked and wrestling each other on the bed sheets.

Wolf's father was on top, nestled between his mother's legs and her rolls of fat, his teeth clenched around her bare nipple like a baby trying to feed, whilst his mother's head was thrown backwards, with one hand resting on her forehead, the other digging it's nails into her mate's ass-cheek.

All of the air was taken out of his lungs as he took in the scene, his immature eyes unable to process what was going on in front of him. Wolf stood, stunned, his feet planted on the wooden floors as Hank sucked on Luann's breast. After a moment, both of them noticed the presence of their youngest son, Luann giving off a shriek of confusion as a glare of rage dominated Hank's face.

"Goddammit, Wolf, I told ya' ta' stay OUTSIDE!!!" Hank bellowed.

Wolf was petrified, completely unable to process what his father was doing to his mother.

All thoughts of helping Fenris were perished from his mind, instead replaced by a mix of confusion and horror.

"GET THA' FUCK OUTTA HERE!!!" his father roared, using a roll of Luann's fat to prop himself upwards, the muscles of his chest flexing as a visage of fury appeared on his face.

The shout was enough to expel Wolf backwards, enticing him to flee out of the door of the room and crouch next to the doorframe as he held his ears to block out the sound of his father's screams and the squeak of worn-out bedsprings.

"I swear ta' God, tha' boy's dumb as a fuckin' rock. Doesn't know how ta' listen worth a damn," Hank grumbled over Luann's moans of pleasure.

No matter how much he tried not to, Wolf still heard it all.

"Good-fer-nothin' little pup. Gonna grow up ta' be a _faggot_ if he ain't careful," growled his father. His mother's exasperated pants of breath seemed to only concur with Hank's analysis.

All that Wolf could do was curl up against the wall and whisper,

"Yes, Daddy. Yes, Daddy."


	2. A Day At the Park

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope you guys are enjoying yourselves; I know I am. Essentially, each of these stories are connected in some way, almost like mirror images. So, in the last story, you saw one of the earliest, most vital moments in Wolf's young life, thus you will see in this story a peek into a major event in Fox's young life. It also marks the beginnings of our subtle exploration into the rise of Andross. Enjoy.

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**-A Day At The Park-**

The endless lanes of glittering skycar traffic shot in between the clean silvery towers of Corneria City like a grid of veins, running to and fro throughout the complex metropolis. The sky was a pure, natural blue, with barely a cloud in the sky, the pale orange rays of Corneria's sun warming the planet comfortably.

Corneria was a planet that could be captured by the idea of having one's cake and eating it. Home to more than 85% of the Lylat System, many of the oceans were drained to make room for skyscrapers that grew ever higher into the sky. When Cornerians wanted more greenery and nature to be preserved, a mandate was made for rooftop parks on many of Corneria City's large buildings.

One of the largest, well-designed parks was the Geffen Financial Park, located atop the massive Geffen Financial Building. The park was home to an extensive playground and numerous trees that almost blocked out the sights of Corneria City, surrounded by durasteel fence to prevent any of the patrons from falling almost a mile from the rooftop.

In the park, sitting upon a metal park bench was a lithe, attractive female fox of her late twenties. Clothed in simple yet elegant white robes, Vixy Renard-McCloud stared off in the distance, a relaxed expression on her face and her green eyes filled with serene contentment. The sunlight peeking through the treetops caught the deep, orangey red color of her fur perfectly. She was attractive enough that whenever she went out alone in public, it wasn't uncommon for multiple suitors to attempt to pick her up. It was only by showing her silver wedding ring with the bright green stone that she ever got them to relent.

"Sorry, _boys_," Vixy would say, "Taken and loving it."

To many of his friends, James McCloud was the luckiest sonofabitch in Lylat for this express reason.

Sitting next to Vixy was a plump green female frog in a pink sundress. In her lap was a holodisplay, projecting the latest news headlines of the _Galactic Star Journal_, one of the prime news outlets of the Lylat System. As Beatrix Toad's bulbous eyes scanned the news readout, she blinked several times, which, with eyes as big as Beatrix's, almost always attracted a person's awkward attention.

"Did you hear this, V?" Beatrix inquired, "They're giving Andross permission to set up a colony on Venom."

"I thought he was _exiled _there. How's it a punishment if they let him run the place?" Vixy replied, barely interested.

"I _know_," Beatrix's high, sweet voice said, "When the Montgomery Experiment went wrong, I was terrified for poor Beltino."

"He was the Space Dynamics liaison to Andross' labs then, wasn't he?" Vixy inquired.

"Yes, before they promoted him to head of R&D he oversaw the funding for Andross' research from Space Dynamics," Beatrix explained, "But when that antimatter bomb went off, I thought the worst. Andross had located himself along with Beltino out of the blast radius though; because they say he knew how likely it was to blow up. Then after the bomb took out the Auburn District there were those Pepper Hearings and they found out that Andross had been working on those illegal cloning experiments and whatnot--"

"I _know_ what happened, Bea," Vixy interjected gently, "I read all about it. I even had my class write essays on scientific ethics about it. God, there was even a friend of mine that was tenured at Montgomery University, and he died in the explosion along with the rest of the Auburn district."

"I'm sorry, V. Just listen to me prattle on," Beatrix sighed, looking upwards.

Vixy smiled. Being a rich, contented housewife, Beatrix lived on an appetite of gossip and talk. Occasionally, it was too much for Vixy, especially after days teaching, to listen to Beatrix's almost vacuous oratory. At the same time, though, Vixy had to love Beatrix. She was just so snide, sometimes. You could tell that, even though she was a housewife, she had more than enough smarts under the occasional bubbliness to handle herself in any workplace.

"So, why are they letting him run Venom?" Vixy inquired.

"It's not like there's anything really valuable there. The place is a toxic rock," Beatrix shrugged, "And the Army doesn't have any interest in the place either, so, for one, nobody really sees that its giving Andross any type of reward. He's got to figure out some way to tame that dump of a planet, anyway."

"_Bea_," Vixy said playfully, "You're doing it again."

"I'm _trying_ to get to the point, if you'd just _stop interrupting_," Beatrix teased.

"If only we had some pillows to fight with. We'd be just like a pair of teenagers," Vixy remarked.

"Now who's getting off-topic?" Beatrix inquired sardonically, and then continued, "The _second_ reason is that there's all of those ape protests going on. They don't like the speciesism that goes on in the Army and at all of the good jobs. The apes say they want civil rights protection, and Parliament isn't willing to give it to them yet. And they see Andross as a kind of hero. They think he's a rebel leader or something."

"And they want their own colony that they can go to and not be bothered or segregated. I'm sure Parliament is _thrilled_," Vixy said with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, yes. I'm pretty sure they don't want to go to a civil rights vote for apes, at least not now, so I think that the idea of all the apes leaving Corneria and going to Venom sounds appealing to them," Beatrix added, returning her gaze to the readout.

"So they're giving a _criminal_ control over a _world _so they don't have to deal with the apes," Vixy growled, "Colonel Pepper must be going nuts."

"It says here that he's the biggest critic. He says that if Andross becomes Proprietor of a colony, he'll be able to start up his own industries on Venom and gather investors," Beatrix read.

"Of course he is. He was James' commanding officer in the Army, and James talks to him all the time, what with him and Peppy trying to set up that freelance group of theirs," Vixy fumed, "Pepper's the only one that seems to see how letting someone like Andross control an economy and a population might be a _bad_ idea."

"Well…" Beatrix thought out loud, "_That's_ a cheery thought."

"Bea," Vixy asked, her voice quivering slightly, "Where are the boys?"

Beatrix paused for a moment and scanned her view of the park, seeing neither a fox cub nor a young frog.

"I'm sure they're fine," Beatrix dismissed, "They're always getting into trouble. With _Fox_ I have no doubt that's the case."

"Bea, which one would you say ranks higher on the 'causing trouble' meter:" Vixy retorted, "_My _son climbing trees and jumping off rooftops, or _your_ son blowing up my kitchen with his toy chemistry set?"

Beatrix was silent for a moment.

"It was only _once_…" she finally said meekly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vixy saw a black and white pylat bird flutter out of the treetops and settle onto the duracrete footpath that led deep into the park.

The bird gracefully spread its fan of black tail feathers and meticulously began to preen its silky-smooth white plumage. It cooed softly as it began to step forward, its head bobbing up and down as it moved on its tiny feet along the path. The pylat bird then raised its head and began to whistle a chirping, melodic call that echoed throughout the trees.

Vixy was about to turn her head and continue scanning the park for Fox, when something flashed through the air and struck the bird in the head, turning its soothing mating call into a squawk of panic as it was thrown backwards in a poof of lost feathers.

Vixy's eyes went wide in surprise as the pylat bird took off, giving off a shrill cry of alarm, then she followed the direction that the projectile had come from, looking up into a tree across the path.

Straddling a thick tree limb, a slingshot in hand was a young Fox McCloud, grinning deviously.

Beatrix's huge mouth fell open in a gasp while Vixy gave Fox a disapproving look.

"That was _not_ funny, Fox!" Beatrix cried as the smile on the cub's face only grew larger, "Where did you get that slingshot?!"

"Slippy made it for me!" Fox declared happily.

"I rest my case," Vixy sneered.

"I traded my Zombie Chaos toys for it," Fox giggled, rocking back and forth on the tree limb, grinning from ear to ear as he shook the slingshot like a maraca.

From around the tree trunk came a pudgy green frog in a white shirt, blue overalls and a red baseball cap mounted between his huge eyes. In each amphibian hand was a figurine of a bulldog, both reanimated members of the living dead.

"Look, mommy," Slippy Toad called, then began to grind one action figure's head against the other, "Gonna eat your _brains_ and gain your _knowl_edge!!"

Vixy laughed a little, putting her hand over her nose, as Beatrix looked horrorstruck.

"Wonderful," Beatrix exasperated, "They're three years old and _already_ delinquents."

"Whatsa 'linquent?" Fox piped from his treetop perch.

"Its when you're too cute to punish even though you _really_ deserve it," Vixy smiled up at her son.

"Gotta catch me to punish me," Fox insisted, reaching into his pocket as he rocked on the tree limb.

"Well, I'm just going to have to climb right up that tree, then, won't I, little guy?" Vixy goaded, standing up from the bench.

"You can't climb up here!" Fox insisted.

"Bet you I can," Vixy toyed.

"Betcha _caaaan't_," Fox crooned, withdrawing his hand from his pocket, holding up a clenched fist.

"What's that in your hands, Fox?" Beatrix said in her best goochie-goochie voice, playing along.

Fox's eyes looked downwards for a moment, and then he started rocking back and forth on the tree limb again, faster than before.

"I'm not gonna _tellll_ you…" Fox giggled.

"Betcha I can guess!" Beatrix serenaded cutely.

"Betcha _caaaan't_…" Fox beamed.

"It's that gumball I gave you!" Beatrix sang.

"Yep!" Fox chirped, then promptly loaded the gumball into the slingshot pocket, pulled back and fired.

The yellow gumball zipped through the air in a blur, smacking into the bench right beside Beatrix and shattering with an audible _snap!_

Beatrix let out a distressed, high-pitched shriek and leapt off of the bench, her humungous eyes growing ever larger with dismay.

Both Fox and Slippy burst out laughing, to the extent that Fox dropped his slingshot, which fell on the grass with a slight rustle. Vixy let out a single laugh, and then glared up at Fox, putting on the harshest face that she could manage.

"Uh-oh," Fox croaked.

"That's right, mister," Vixy scolded as Beatrix picked herself up from the ground.

"Bye bye," Fox stammered as he began to climb higher up into the tree.

"Fox McCloud, you get out of that tree **right NOW**!" Vixy shouted.

A glum look spread over Fox's face as he began to descend, and Vixy walked over and picked up the fallen slingshot, shoving it into her pocket.

Fox hopped down from the lowest branch, shuffling around the tree in his brown shorts and green tee shirt. He looked up at Vixy with a perfect puppy-dog stare, the red scarf around his neck looking like a bow on a birthday present.

Vixy had to admit: he _was_ too cute to be disciplined.

"Are you going to punish me now?" Fox whimpered.

Vixy pulled out the slingshot and promptly broke the thin wishbone-shaped stick, tossing the remains to the ground.

She then leaned down to Fox's level and whispered, "Not if you run fast enough."

A glint appeared in Fox's emerald eyes, and he turned around and took off like a shot.

"_Vixy_," Beatrix chastised, "You're _going_ to have to punish that cub _some_day."

"Lighten up, Bea, he's three years old," Vixy retorted, "It's not like he's getting away with murder."

With that, Vixy bounded after her son, watching him run as only a toddler could, his bushy red tail pitching from side to side as he moved.

"I'm gonna get you!" Vixy called stretching her arms outward, "I'm gonna tickle you 'till you die!"

Fox gave off a jovial cry of laughter as he pumped his legs harder, darting between the trees of the park.

Pretty soon, both Fox and Vixy were laughing hard, pursuer and pursued, lost amongst the foliage.

Fox leapt behind a tree and out of view, and Vixy slowed, tiptoeing around the tree. She quietly looked around and saw Fox's tail poking out from under a bush.

"Ooohoohoohoo, _where_ _is he_?" Vixy snarled in a mockingly scary voice.

She flexed her fingers as she approached, slowly sinking down to the ground.

"Maybe he's right…HERE!" Vixy roared, snatching up Fox's tail and dragging him out from under the bush.

Fox squealed as Vixy exposed him, kicking his feet in futility. With a mock snarl, Vixy began to mercilessly tickle him, convulsing her fingers over Fox's chest and arms rapidly. The red fur of his arms was soft to the touch, the underlying skin warm and alive, a magical quality that gave a warm feeling in Vixy's heart as she continued to make her son laugh. She just couldn't get enough of his giggles, tickling him until tears began to stream down his face. Finally, Vixy relented and sat back, laughing herself breathless. She looked up at the canopy of trees, watching the spots of sunlight seeping through the leaves and the branches, as Fox continued to laugh.

They both ran out of breath at about the same time, glowing at each other as they panted for air.

A rustling in the grass announced the arrival of Beatrix, holding hands with Slippy who was still playing with Fox's Zombie Chaos dolls. As Slippy mashed the two undead freaks together again and again with a distinct clicking sound, Beatrix intoned with a raised eyelid, "Are you done being Mom of the Year?"

Vixy gave a thoughtful look, as if she was debating it in her head, eventually responding with, "Ehhh…for _now_."

"Enough to pick up lunch for all of us?" Beatrix inquired.

"Saddle me with the _grunt work_, why don't you?" Vixy scoffed.

"Come on," Beatrix coaxed, "If we're coming back here anyway it's a waste of gas for us both to go. Plus, do you seriously want to pull up to a fly-in with _these two_ in the back seat?"

Vixy looked at Fox, once again giggling gaily on the grass, then at Slippy, relentlessly crushing the zombie dolls together with ever-increasing intensity, then back at Beatrix.

"You…_may_ have a point," Vixy yielded quietly.

"I usually do," Beatrix smiled.

"God, we should have brought Vivian along. She _always _makes lunch. And it's always awesome," Vixy sighed.

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda," Beatrix dismissed, "Besides, you know Lucy doesn't get along with the boys. She's a _girl_. Quit stalling."

"Yes, drill sergeant, sir," Vixy grumbled, rising to her feet.

"Where you going, mommy?" Fox inquired, sitting up.

"Getting food, boys," Vixy answered, "Be back in a minute."

"WacArnolds! WacArnolds!" Fox and Slippy demanded in unison.

The two mothers waited for a few moments, staring at each other in a deadpan manner as they waited for their offspring to finish their cries. The chants soon died down, both Fox and Slippy looking up at their mothers expectantly.

"Is WacArnolds good for you?" Vixy sighed.

"I dunno, do the value meals come with a whiskey sour?" Beatrix muttered.

"You're _horrible_!" Vixy laughed as she began to walk.

"To answer your question, yes," Beatrix smiled.

They walked on to the end of the park, past the trees and up to the durasteel fence lining the roof's edge. Beyond the fence, the expansive, bright skyline of Corneria City stretched as far as the eye could see, with its flowing lanes of air traffic and its shining skyscrapers and it's cloudless blue sky. The boys almost instantly pressed their faces to the fence, captivated by the cityscape as they always were.

"Alright, so, two value meals and two kids meals?" Vixy confirmed as she pressed in the code for the parking crane on the doorway to the landing pad.

"Make sure they both have toys in them or we'll never hear the end of it," Beatrix offered.

"I know," Vixy responded coyly as the hum of hydraulics could be heard.

At that moment, a huge robotic crane appeared from below, a grey Utilica Royale skyvan clenched delicately in its mechanical claw.

"Tell me why it is, again, that _James_ gets to keep the sports car?" Vixy griped, half serious.

"Male inadequacy. They can't have multiple orgasms, so they confine us to a mom-mobile out of spite," Beatrix droned sarcastically.

Vixy smiled back at Beatrix, then silently opened the gate and walked onto the landing pad.

"Be right back, Fox!" Vixy cried as she entered the skyvan.

"Bye, mommy!" Fox called back, but by then his mother had closed the door to the skyvan.

With a rumble and a low growl, the repulsors kicked in and the skyvan lifted off of the pad, then zoomed through the air to merge with the fly-lanes.

"Alright," Slippy's mother huffed, "You boys play Zombie Chaos or something. Fox, if you shoot me again, I'm going to punish you like I would Slippy."

"You're not my mom," Fox retorted.

Slippy's mom pretended to dart forward as if she was about to grab Fox, who promptly jumped back in fear.

"I thought so," Slippy's mom smirked.

Fox and Slippy began to walk back towards the trees, their backs turned to the cityscape.

Because of this, they didn't see the fly-lanes that Vixy Renard-McCloud's Utilica Royale had merged into.

Nor did they see the large space freighter attempting to make a landing atop a neighboring building, only to have it's repulsor engines fail and drop through the sky into the fly-lanes below.

Fox didn't actually see anything bad, at first.

He heard it.

The cracking boom of a distant explosion and the far-off wail of emergency alarms.

They all turned back around to face the skyline, in time enough to see the fires of the sky-cars that the falling space ship had taken out tumbling towards the ground.

Fox stared at the plunging fires and the dropping freighter, not understanding what it meant.

Then he saw the gasping, horrified look on Slippy's mom's face. Beatrix Toad was petrified in a state of hysterical shock, her green skin turning several shades paler.

He then looked back at the fiery wreck.

He still didn't understand why.

But something told him it was bad.


	3. The Full Moon

**-The Full Moon-**

The flickering glow of a holovision display screen provided the only light in the room, casting its eerie, contrasting glow on the viewers that sat and took in its images. The adults and the older children of the O'Donnell household always got to sit on the four-person couch that allowed a prime view of the screen. Currently, Hank and Luann O'Donnell were reclining half-asleep on the couch, with their fifteen year-old son, Remus. Technically, there should have been room for one more, however Luann's increasing girth meant that her ass took up enough space for two people on a _good_ day.

Thus, Wolf and Leon were relegated to the floor.

Now ten years old, Wolf was no longer the baby of the family, and not just because his mother had given birth to five more children. His lavender eyes had grown harder and narrower. The tuft of white fur in between his ears had grown scruffier, more prominent, along with the rest of his hide. His ears had grown pointier and more pronounced, and sharp claws had begun to grow on each finger.

He was no longer picked on, either. Wolf had been in more fights amongst his brothers than all of them combined, winning and leaving ghastly damage in his wake almost every time. His older brother, Fenris, had been terrified of Wolf ever since that first victorious fight five years ago. When Wolf was eight, he got into a fight with his younger brother, Wedge, and injured him bad enough to keep him in bed for three weeks. During those three weeks, Wedge contracted an infection in one of the larger cuts Wolf had given him, and died before a doctor could make it out to the relative nowhere of the O'Donnell homestead.

He wasn't punished when Wedge died, but Wolf _knew_ that they all blamed him for it.

Not that Wolf cared that much; his relationship with both of his parents as well as his siblings was rather cold, especially with his father. Other than Hank's lessons to Wolf on electronics and engineering, the two of them barely talked.

In fact, Wolf's only real companion was the bug-eyed, spacey chameleon sitting next to him. Leon Powalski's parents had emigrated to Katina a year ago, settling and building a ranch a few miles west of the O'Donnell homestead, and though Leon was a year older, the two loners had become fast friends.

Wolf's friendship with Leon only seemed to distance himself more from his family, who weren't especially fond of the Powalskis. They thought all of them were weird and shady, especially Leon, whom they thought was crazy.

Wolf had to admit that they were more than likely right, but at the same time, it was probably what made Wolf like Leon so much: he'd finally found someone crazier than himself.

Still, despite the O'Donnell's disapproval of Leon, they allowed him to come over and play with Wolf. The logic was that, as long as Wolf was spending time with Leon, he wasn't getting into a gory brawl with his siblings.

A fanfare of trumpets could be heard, and a stylized star appeared on the screen with the letters LNN overtop. An announcer's voice then said, "This is the Lylat News Network, covering news from Corneria to the furthest reaches of the Outer Rim territories."

Wolf smiled and didn't move. Most of his siblings, especially the younger ones, hated that his parents always watched the news. Wolf personally enjoyed it. It reminded him that there indeed was a universe out there waiting to be explored beyond this middle-of-nowhere farm on this middle-of-nowhere planet. Plus, LNN occasionally ran stories on Team StarFox.

"Hello, galaxy," the orange tabby cat in the blue suit greeted, "I'm David Takami, and this is the LNN Update. Our top story for this Update concerns the recent grant of independence issued to the planet Venom, formally separating it from the Cornerian government. It's a move that has caused both controversy and protest, mainly through the disagreeing opinions on the decision between Parliament and the Military. In an almost unprecedented move, we have the two biggest members of each side of the argument here tonight to debate their viewpoints. Joining us from his offices in the Palace of Churchill is Prime Minister Walter Neville, representing the Cornerian Parliament's point of view, and here in our Corneria City studio is General George Pepper, the Commander-in-Chief of the Cornerian Armed Forces. Good evening to the both of you."

The camera then changed, showing three different windows. In the furthest left window was a bulldog with light grey fur, wearing an expensive dark suit and sitting in a high-backed chair. In the right window was a long-faced bloodhound in an elaborate red uniform, his sky-blue eyes brimming with wisdom and intensity. In the middle was David Takami, mediating the two.

"Now, the first question of the night goes to Prime Minister Neville," Takami purred, looking down at his datapad, "Can you please outline for us the reasons that you so adamantly supported the Venomian Independence Edict through Parliament?"

"Of course, David," the bulldog huffed, "Mainly, it is our belief that Venom _deserves_ independence, and that it's residents will have a better quality of life and socioeconomic standard than they could on other settled worlds such as Corneria or Macbeth, or as part of the Cornerian Government."

"You're referring to the fact that most of the immigrant population of Venom are primates, isn't that correct?" Takami inquired.

"Yes, David," the Prime Minister nodded, "Primates are drawn to Venom because of the civil rights guarantees that Andross' formerly colonial government put into place, which are, sadly, not a matter of law in the rest of the Lylat System as of yet. However, all sorts of others are drawn to Venom, many with criminal backgrounds trying to get a clean slate."

"Then why not just pass a civil rights amendment, Neville?" General Pepper demanded, his voice deep and warbling.

"General Pepper," the Prime Minister cajoled softly with a shake of his head, "The people of Lylat have consistently showed themselves unready to take a step like that. As this is a government _of_ the _people_, if the people are not ready, then Parliament is not ready."

"Now, turning to General Pepper," Takami said, "Your main objection to the Venomian Independence Edict was that it made no demands that the Colonial Proprietor, Andross, be replaced by a democratically-elected or Cornerian-appointed head of state."

"I think we all can see the dangers in giving a criminal mastermind absolute control over a _planet_, now without our ability to oversee his activities," General Pepper growled.

"That is defamatory and a gross overstatement of the facts," the Prime Minister snapped, "Andross was a respected and honored scientific leader before the Montgomery Experiment, aside from which he has committed no crimes."

"What about the cloning experiments he was conducting behind our _backs_?" General Pepper huffed, "What about the illegal genetic splicing and bioweapons research he did in _secret_? What about all of the people that _died_ when Andross' 'experiment' blew up an entire district of Corneria City?!"

"Regardless," the Prime Minister dismissed, "He is an idolized and respected leader in the primate community. Despite his past misdeeds, Dr. Andross is a competent leader who obviously has the people's consent in ruling Venom."

"Con_sent_?!" Pepper barked incredulously, "Have you _never_ heard the stories or seen the evidence of how he's _enslaved_ the indigenous lizard population, or are you just ignoring it on purpose?"

"You're bordering on _paranoid_, General Pepper. What evidence?" the Prime Minister scoffed, "In the decades that Venom has been studied by Andross, no indigenous or intelligent life has been found."

"You're trusting _his_ research?!" Pepper interrogated.

"He's an ape that's smart enough to know what to do with a second chance. Despite Andross' misdeeds, _I _am willing to accept that exile has mended his ways," the Prime Minister explained, "Unlike yourself, General Pepper, who I believe has a rather large conflict of interest in this matter."

"Indeed," Takami interrupted, "Much of the criticism of your position stems from the fact that, when you were a Colonel, you presided over the military hearings that investigated the Montgomery Incident and Andross' scientific misconduct. It was your belief that Andross consciously underwent the Montgomery Experiment, knowing that the antimatter bomb involved would detonate and cause the damage that it did. Your recommendation was to execute Andross, however other members of the committee overruled you. Don't you think that this may cloud your judgment on this issue?"

"I maintain my opinion that Andross made the _choice_ to execute the Montgomery Experiment, knowing full well what would happen, which thus makes him responsible for the deaths of almost two thousand people," Pepper argued, "And it does _not_ affect my opinion, because my opinion then and my opinion now are based on _evidence_, not my political agenda."

"I don't like the implication you're making, General," the Prime Minister snarled, "Why don't you just come out and say it on galactic holovision?"

"Why not?" General Pepper shrugged.

His feline eyes widening, David Takami began, "Um, General--" only to be cut off by what came next.

"You're so busy playing footsie with speciesist bigots trying to get the conservative vote--"

"Hey, wait a minute!" barked the Prime Minister, only to have Pepper continue,

"—and _maybe_ it's because _you're_ a speciesist too--"

"HEY!!!"

"—that you're ready to give a _terrorist_ the keys to a _planet_ before you pass a damn law that'll guarantee people's _rights_! That's what I said, Neville! And if you can look me in the eye and tell me that's not true, then how about _you_ come right out and say it on galactic holovision?!" Pepper roared.

By this time, the Prime Minister, who was red in the face, promptly slammed his fist down on his arm wrest and bellowed, "If those dirty, stinking apes want that worthless planet, they can damn well HAVE IT!!!"

David Takami's eyes went wide and he looked from side to side for someone to tell him what to do.

Prime Minister Neville was breathing hard, but in his eyes there was an expression of anxiety, like someone who has said something they'll later regret.

General Pepper sat back in his seat, a smirk on his face.

"Alright, then, I think that's enough for one night," David Takami said nervously, "I'd like to thank both Prime Minister Neville and General Pepper for being with us tonight; perhaps you can join us again sometime. And right now, I think we could _really_ use a advertisement break, so we'll be back after this."

As the digital fanfare was heard again and the LNN logo showed up on the screen, Hank O'Donnell growled, "Hell yeah. Ought ta' ship every last little piece a' shit chimpo off ta' Venom an' gas tha' whole damn world. Thas' what I think."

"Whaddaya think, hon?" Luann inquired, waking up from a snooze.

Hank looked down at her with a greedy leer, "I think ya' oughta' go down ta' tha' bedroom an' bend over."

"Hey, why ya' gotta say that in fronta' my _kids_?!" Luann snapped irately.

"They don' give a _shit_," Hank retorted, "And you 'aint winnin' any awards fer _yer_ parentin' skills anytime soon. So get your get your fat ass back to tha' bedroom."

"Asshole," Luann hissed, yet she still heaved herself up from the couch and exited the room.

Hank smirked and got up, following close behind her, and Remus raised his eyebrows in a congratulatory manner, staying seated.

As they passed him, Wolf thought of something he saw five years ago, then put it out of his mind with a grimace of contempt.

He focused back on the holovision, where a commercial from the local Katinan broadcasting affiliate was showing.

"Brand new at the Beggar Station trading post, it's Team StarFox action figures! They're the Lylat System's own galactic heroes! Collect them all and enter to win a free _Great Fox _play set! Spend hours fighting the space pirates of Meteo and braving the exotic jungles of Sauria, or have your own quest to save the galaxy!"

Wolf laughed and a grin spread to his face. Leon blinked, then rolled his large eyes, his tail curling.

Wolf couldn't get enough of StarFox; he collected the trading chips that were made of all the StarFox team members and vehicles, he even had a Team StarFox shirt that he'd stolen one time at a provincial fair. One thing that Leon always criticized Wolf for was his idolization of Team StarFox.

Still, Wolf couldn't help it.

What was _not_ to love about flying around in space, killing the bad guys, and saving the entire galaxy?

It was Wolf's dream.

Team StarFox was the best of the best, but anyone could become a member if they worked hard enough. Wolf knew that if he put his heart to it, he could become just as good as James McCloud, Peppy Hare or Pigma Dengar.

Wolf O'Donnell of Team StarFox.

He liked the sound of that.

"You know they're not _really_ like that," Leon's high, nasal voice said as he and Wolf got up and plopped on the couch next to Remus, "They're just regular guys like you and me. The only _reason_ people say that they're these big heroes is because they can make some Liat off of it."

"I know," Wolf shrugged, "Ya' don't gotta tell _me_. But _still_, wouldn't it be cool ta' do what _they _do?"

"What tha' hell you guys talkin' bout?" Remus demanded.

"StarFox," Wolf answered.

"Ha! _StarFox_?" Remus mocked.

His older brother leaned across Leon, getting right in Wolf's face. For some reason, Wolf looked down and saw Remus' hand touching the bare reptilian skin where Leon's knee met his thigh. Wolf's brow furrowed, but he lost his concentration as Remus spoke, so close that Wolf could smell the alcohol he'd snuck from Hank's liquor depository on his breath.

"Ya' know what's gonna happen to ya?" Remus derided, "Yer gonna grow old an' die on this here farm, or yer gonna get up an' join th' Army an' be some pissant little soldier. But you _aint_ gonna be in no _StarFox_. You a piece a' wolf _trash_, just like tha' rest a' us, an' they don' let wolf trash inta' no _StarFox_."

Glaring at Remus, five years Wolf's senior, Wolf's only thought was of how easy it would be to slug him right in the mouth if Leon wasn't sitting in between.

Instead, Wolf just pursed his lips, his whiskers quivering a little, and muttered, "I'm gonna get a drink."

As Wolf got up and exited into the kitchen, Remus smirked. He still hadn't taken his paw off of Leon's knee.

The chameleon's eyes were glued onto the holovision screen, so Remus went a step further and reached his hand up Leon's leg, into his shorts.

That got his attention.

"What the hell are you doing?" Leon asked, but Remus didn't stop.

The pad of the wolf's paws felt dry on the sensitive scales in between his legs. Leon began to hyperventilate, his eyes glued to the holovision, too scared to watch or move. Out of the corner of his eye, Leon could see Remus smiling.

He wanted to make him stop but didn't know how.

His leg began to shake and his lower jaw trembled, still looking straight ahead for fear of what he might see elsewhere.

"Shhh," Remus whispered, "Be quiet or I'll tell 'em how much yer enjoyin' this."

Wolf walked back into the room, a glass of barabel fruit juice in his hand.

He almost didn't notice what was going on, then he froze and almost dropped his glass.

"What the fuck?" Wolf gasped.

"Aint' nothin', Wolf," Remus smirked, "Just tryin' ta' see if tha' reptile heres queer or not."

"Get offa' him, Remus!" Wolf hollered.

"No," Remus dared, "What th' fuck are you gonna do 'bout it?"

Wolf was seized by the fear of the moment, then caught a look at Leon's terrified face.

The ferocity and anger at the whole situation was like a fire being lit in Wolf's heart.

Without even thinking about it, Wolf gripped his glass from the base and leapt forward, swinging it outward in a broad arc.

The barabel juice flew out of the glass, an impressive gush of dark purple liquid, then the glass hit Remus' face with enough force to shatter into a thousand pieces.

Remus screamed and fell backwards, blind and bleeding from the dozens of glass shards stuck in his face, stumbling out of his seat and against the wall.

"Ya' FUCKIN' COCK! YA' FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!!!!" Remus roared, tearing forward and out of the room.

Wolf darted after him.

He wasn't done with him _yet_.

Remus blindly banged his way towards the front door of the house, swinging it open and staggering out onto the moonlit porch. Wolf leapt out of the front door, swiping at Remus with his claws.

A tearing sound of cloth and flesh could be heard as Wolf's nails sliced four thin cuts through Remus' shirt and into his back, drawing blood.

A yell erupted from Remus' muzzle.

Wolf grabbed Remus by the base of his tail, kicking him hard in the small of his back, hearing the pleasurable crack as Remus fell forward and some of the ligaments in his tail vertebrae popped. Again, Remus screamed.

Remus crawled forward, his head sticking over the edge of the porch, and he rolled over, resting his neck on the porch's edge and showing Wolf the bleeding lacerations he'd suffered.

"Fuh-kin'…" Remus moaned, "…fuckin' psycho."

"Hey, Remus," Wolf snarled, "_This_ is what I'm gonna fuckin' do about it."

With that, Wolf raised his shoe and brought it down hard on Remus' snout, putting all of his weight on it and smashing down.

Wolf wanted to hear that crack of breaking teeth.

What he heard instead was the _snap_ of a breaking neck as Remus' head bent much farther backwards than it was supposed to.

Wolf tumbled off of the porch and onto his side in the dirt. Bathed in the moonlight, his scruffy grey fur looked quite luminous.

He shook his head and sat up, and only then did he notice Remus' twisted neck, his lifeless eyes gazing out at him as blood dripped from the cuts to his face.

That dead stare froze Wolf where he lay. The air left his lungs.

After a moment, he looked up at the doorway of the farmhouse, seeing Leon crouched near the ground.

There was an odd, primal look in his eyes, a cold smile on his lips. The chameleon licked his chops with a long, stretchy tongue, breathing excitedly like a child getting off of a thrill ride.

Wolf looked back at his older brother, not bothering to call out to see if Remus might be all right. There was no doubt that he was stone dead.

He hardly noticed when his parents and many of his siblings rushed onto the porch to see what happened, gasping in horror and despair.

He didn't resist when his father came and dragged Wolf to his feet and began to beat the crap out of him, roaring incoherently with tears streaming down his face.

They buried Remus the following night under the full moon. Normally, at that time of month, Wolf's parents would've made them all come out and watch the moon and remark about how beautiful it was.

That night, no one was looking at the sky; instead they looked into the dark hole and the blanket-wrapped body at the bottom.

Wolf was not allowed to watch them bury his brother, so instead he sat on the roof of the farmhouse and looked up at the stars.

He promised himself that he would get there someday.

He would fly away from all of this and travel the stars and kill the bad guys and save the galaxy and everyone would call him a hero.

Wolf swore to himself, one day, he would be just like StarFox.

One day, Wolf would be the best in all of Lylat.

No matter what it took.


	4. A Hero Died For Me

AUTHOR'S NOTE: We're gonna switch things up right now. This story fits in with the whole prequel idea, however, since the main character is Peppy, not Fox or Wolf, I decided to plop it right in the middle. However, this story takes place after all of the other ones, so it's going to create some foreshadowing and suspense for you to wonder about until it gets answered later. So, without further adieu, lets finally find out how Peppy escaped from Venom all those years ago.

* * *

**-A Hero Died For Me-**

I don't know anything.

I don't know anything at all.

I swear to God.

Just please don't take me back there.

Please don't hurt me anymore.

It had become almost a mantra for Peppy Hare. It felt like he'd been saying it for so long that he could barely remember how to say anything else.

His home planet of Corneria, his wife Vivian, his daughter Lucy, it all seemed so far in the past as to be irrelevant. The four blackened walls of ferroconcrete, the black tile floors and the solid durasteel containment door had become his new home.

Slouched against the hard, abrasive walls, his sleeveless red and black flight suit just barely clinging to his emaciated form, Peppy could barely move. If he moved, he would just start hurting again. It even hurt to breathe but it wasn't as if he could really do anything to solve that, the cuts and bruises on his chest and back aching and stinging with every movement of his diaphragm.

In the corner of the cell, drying and beginning to truly stink was the regurgitated remains of whatever it was that the guards had tried to feed him last night. He hadn't made it to the durasteel toilet after eating it before it came back up. Peppy had probably lost thirty pounds, down to an almost skeletal body shape, his long, grey ears drooping limply downwards.

As he looked into the shadows of his cell, for some reason he remembered Pigma.

It had been Peppy's idea to find another team member. For Team StarFox to be effective, it needed more manpower than just James and himself. Unlike the two of them, Pigma Dengar wasn't an ex-member of the Cornerian military. Instead, Pigma had been a top-tier racer in the G-Zero Grand Prix, known for his somewhat brutal racetrack tactics in his race for the prize money. He'd made a cunning teammate, despite being somewhat abrasive. Peppy had always seen Pigma as the most focused, rational member of Team StarFox, with his eyes always on the objective, always on the prize. James had been a little wary of Pigma because of this, but Peppy thought it was just a realistic attitude that made him a valuable asset to the team.

_Guess I was wrong there_, Peppy thought with a tiny, grim smile that stung his face.

How long had Pigma been betraying them? Had he always been a turncoat, or was it just some spur of the moment thing? Had Pigma just been flying over Venom, providing James and Peppy cover, and saw just what Andross might be able to give him, deciding to act right there?

It hadn't been clear when the apes were torturing him a week ago.

Pigma had just waddled into the room in the middle of it all, stuffing himself with a box of chocolates. Peppy had thought he was hallucinating, that maybe the apes had drugged him with something. But then, on Pigma's command, they stopped, and he sauntered forward, his rolls of fat moving up and down like waves on a beach.

"Wassup, Peppy?" Pigma had snorted, "You don't look so good, hehehe…"

An odd mix of despair, rage and disappointment replaced Peppy's confusion.

"Yeah, so, maybe yuh realized this, but, uh…" Pigma droned, "It was me. I sold you and James out. I'd say it's a good move on my part, playing for the winning team and all…Hell, they're even setting me up with my own elite flying team up here. But yeah…sorry you had to be the _bargaining chip_ and all, it's just that I couldn't show up for my first day on the job _empty handed_, ya know? But don't worry, we're gonna take _good care _of you and James, all right? Hehehehehe…"

He then just began laughing that squealing, snorting laugh of his, that pig-snout contracting in and out as he crammed another chocolate into his jaws. Then he had the apes start all over again ("From the top," he said) and walked out, still giggling to himself.

It was so pointless to be mad about it now. It hardly mattered. Regardless of whether Pigma was Andross' adopted son or in the next cell, they were going to kill Peppy.

James might even already be dead.

He'd been in the next cell, and they'd been able to communicate occasionally through a tiny crack in the wall between the two cells. Peppy's whispered calls to his old friend had gone unanswered for the past two days; he'd heard rumors that the guards outside had muttered to themselves that James had asked to be tortured _more_, in order to spare Peppy.

Peppy prayed it wasn't true, he prayed that James was alive.

He didn't want to die alone.

Peppy closed his eyes.

_Goodbye, Vivian_, Peppy thought, _I had hoped we could dance until we grew old together. Looks like the best I can do is save you a dance on the other side. _

_Goodbye, Lucy. The thing I'll regret the most is not being able to see you grow up. _

Peppy opened his eyes slowly, finding his vision blurry with moisture as a single tear rolled down his nose.

He hadn't said goodbye until now. He supposed it was only proper.

Peppy looked over to the dim, barely visible hole against the wall. Little more than a large crack where the wall met the floor, it was the only way that James could ever hear him if he was in his cell.

Peppy decided to try one last time.

"James," Peppy murmured, "James. Are you there?"

There was nothing.

"_James_," Peppy hissed urgently.

Again, only silence.

Gritting his teeth together with determination, Peppy pushed himself up and forward, feeling the dull, crushing ache in his shoulder from where the apes had hit him with a length of durasteel piping the other day. He got down on all fours, hissing as he put pressure on the kneecap that they had inserted a glass tube into, only to shatter it under his skin with a brutal kick. The apes had removed the glass so he wouldn't get infected, but they'd sutured his wounds the way one would sew up a busted hem.

Bastards.

With a series of grunts and moans of pain, Peppy dragged himself across the ferroconcrete until he was practically kissing the wall, his nose perpendicular to the hole.

"James!" Peppy barked hoarsely.

There was no reply, and just as Peppy was about to give up he looked into the hole carefully and realized there was something blocking it. His grey-furred brow wrinkled in confusion, and he extended his left hand into the hole, feeling a soft, small wad of something soft and dry.

His eyebrows rose quizzically, and Peppy withdrew the wad, coming back with a handful of two different piles of toilet paper. One, on top, was strangely wrinkled, and even though it was folded over, Peppy could tell there was writing on it. On the bottom, the toilet paper was wrapped around something hard and angular.

Sitting up with a moan of pain, his bare palms against the ice-cold ferroconcrete, Peppy picked up the first wad of toilet paper, and slowly, but carefully, unwrapped it.

The wad fell open to reveal a message, written on toilet paper with a piece of dull graphite. Peppy had only seen it a few times, but he knew that the handwriting on the toilet paper had to be James'. Peppy breathed in and prepared himself for what he almost already knew for sure and read:

Dear Friend,

If you're reading this, I'm probably already dead. I'm sorry to be saying goodbye like this, Peppy, but if you knew my plan, you probably would've tried to talk me out of it. I've worked my hardest and built up all of my strength to make them concentrate on me, rather than you, in the hopes that one of us could maybe make it out of this hellhole, somehow. I think I've finally gotten them to do it. They've been putting me through all sorts of shit, longer than they used to, more frequent than they used to, and, since I haven't heard anything besides my screams for the past few days, I'm guessing that they've left you alone. I barely have the strength to write you this letter; I don't think I'm going to make it past tomorrow. Word has it that Andross is coming down to personally finish me off. I always was one to go out with style, wasn't I?

At this point, Peppy stopped reading, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth together. He clenched his empty fist so hard that his fingernails dug into his palms, and he could feel the onrush of tears coming out of his eyes.

"James…" Peppy sniffed, "Why, James, you stupid, _stupid_ bastard…?"

Peppy just lay there breathing out hard, a ball in his throat, but he wiped his eyes and continued reading.

When you get back to Corneria, tell Fox how much I loved him. I've included something in the little goodie bag I've made you that I want you to give to Fox. Teach him what I would teach him. Make sure he's ready. You and I both know that these bastards are going to enslave far more than just Venom if they're not stopped.

I want you to know that I'm happy to have died if it means you get to live. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more than a day or two, but that's all I have to give. Well, that, and a small present that I've made especially for you. It's not much, but it should get the job done when it comes to having the element of surprise. Just remember what they taught us at boot camp. Give them hell, Peppy. 

For the both of us. 

If only one of us got a chance to make it out of here, I wanted it to be you, Peppy. If only because I know you'd do the same for me. Think about Vivian. Think about Lucy. They need you. As much as I love him, as much as I know I'm going to wish I'd had a chance to say goodbye, I know that Fox doesn't really need me anymore. And I'm happy for that. It makes my decision an easy one. You have your wife. Go home to her, Peppy.

I'm going to go home to mine.

-James

The letter ended abruptly, without warning, and Peppy found himself paralyzed. After a moment, he sniffed, dropped the letter and began to quietly sob, banging his fist quietly into the ferroconcrete wall. He lay there and cried for probably half an hour at the loss of James, the cold ferroconcrete providing him no condolence in his grief. When Peppy finally got a hold of himself, he ran an aching hand over both of his eyes and sat up with a look of solemn, tired misery.

It was just like James to go out that way.

He was always there to be the best friend that Peppy ever had.

He was always doing the hardest job.

He was always taking on the burden.

He was always doing…the right thing.

Peppy felt like a coward. He felt weak and inadequate, undeserving of the sacrifice that his best friend had made for him. Here he was, ready to resign himself to death, and James had already done just that, so that Peppy wouldn't have to. What made James deserve to die that Peppy would live? If anyone deserved to live, it was James.

_He _was the hero.

Peppy was just the best friend.

_But maybe that's what makes him the hero_, Peppy thought, _the fact that he would do that for you. _

Peppy looked up, his face still wet with tears but his eyes beginning to burn with determination.

James gave Peppy the chance to live. To escape, and to take the fight back to Andross and every single one of these monkey motherfuckers.

Peppy wasn't about to waste it.

As he sat up and put the second wad of toilet paper in his lap, the aches and pains from his days of abuse seemed to be somehow dulled, less significant. He unwrapped it, finding a small vaguely rectangular piece of silver metal. On it was an olive wreath, encircling a letter C with a pair of wings stretching out from either side.

It was James' aviator badge from the Cornerian Army, his 'wings'. Peppy would make sure it got back to Fox if it killed him.

As Peppy put the badge in his pocket, he saw, left in the wad, a wedge-shaped shard of shiny, black glass, wrapped tightly around the wide end with a piece of ripped white cloth.

Peppy smiled softly and with some degree of sadness as he realized what it was.

It was a rather large, sharp piece of glass from a lens of James' trademark sunglasses. By wrapping it in a piece of his white StarFox pilot's jacket, James had fashioned a prison shank for Peppy to use to make his escape.

Peppy held up the small, improvised weapon.

Looking at his reflection in the glass, Peppy imagined, for the briefest of moments, that James was looking out at him from behind the lenses one last time, nodding at him to do what needed to be done.

"Thank you," Peppy whispered.

They didn't come to torture him that night. It was almost anticlimactic, expecting the door to open and for that sadistic, sneering ape guard that liked to kick him and drag him by his ears to the torture chamber to come in, only to stab him right in the neck as he smiled and reached for his ears one last time. Instead, there was merely the squeaking of the food slot as the guards opened it up and plopped his dinner into the cell.

A glop of white, gritty mush, Peppy regardless ate it and forced himself to keep it down, knowing that he would need all of the strength that he could muster. For the rest of the night, he could taste the feeling of warm saliva in the back of his throat and the heat of bile rising up to his tonsils, but Peppy forced himself not to vomit. Eventually, his stomach settled, and he managed to drift off to sleep on the black tile floor, sleeping sounder than he ever had in the cell.

Peppy awoke to the sound of their boots. He could tell it was them. That way that they marched confidently, intimidating in the way that they practically advertised their approach. They were coming for him.

He sprung up and slouched against the wall of the cell as he always did, palming the shank in his right hand and half-closing his eyes as if he was drowsy or tired. He prepared to put on the best performance of his life as the footsteps got louder and louder, closer and closer. He thought of a plan. He knew there were two guards that would come for him. Peppy's favorite guard, the ear-puller, would come in to get Peppy out of the cell, then the other would help ear-puller take him to the torture room. Other than them, there was perhaps one guard in this small cellblock, but more than likely he'd be one of the two sent to fetch him. Peppy's real worry was the numerous security holocams that were in the hallway, which would no doubt alert the other guards and the base at large. He'd probably have to play that part by ear, and try to find a blaster as quick as possible.

He could hear the footsteps stop and the lock snap, and an imposing ape in a maroon military uniform with black boots and a black helmet strode in. On the forehead of the black helmet was the upside down 'A' insignia of the Venomian Empire of Andross.

On the wrinkled simian muzzle of the ape was a sadistic sneer.

"Rise and shine, bunny rabbit. You're _overdue_," the guard rumbled in a thick, exotic accent.

Peppy contorted his face with a look of terror and pleaded, "Please, please don't take me back there! I don't want to go! Please! I've got a family! I just wanna go home!"

"This _is _your home, bunny rabbit," the guard growled, "It's your morgue. You're already dead. We're just here to embalm you and bury you."

As the guard laughed, Peppy shifted his weight and moved very slowly into a crouching position.

"I swear to God," Peppy moaned, "I'll do anything. Just don't take me back there."

"How 'bout you bend over and let me fuck you in the ass, bunny rabbit, then I'll see what I can do," the guard laughed.

Peppy almost blew it trying to hide his look of disgust.

"Johner, what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing in there?" the other guard shouted, not looking through the crack of the open cell door.

"Just some _supplemental_ interrogation tactics, Rob," Johner said, "Don't look; I'll be out soon."

"Don't worry, man. I _won't_," Rob shuddered.

"So…" Johner growled to him, unfastening his belt, "Are you ready for me to stick it in, bunny rabbit?"

That was Peppy's cue.

Sliding the shank forward, into his fingers with his thumb, Peppy leapt up off of the ground, stabbing the guard in his larynx with a quick, sharp jab.

The glass shard stuck into the guard's neck beautifully, creating a wonderful, soft _thump_ sound as it sliced through the cartilage of the guard's voice box.

The guard's eyes swelled in shock with the speed of it all, and Peppy withdrew the shank, grabbing an extendable baton out of the guard's belt and kicking him to the floor.

The guard fell to the ground with blood the same color as his uniform gushing out of his hairy neck, and he thrashed around in shock attempting to scream, but only producing the quietest of hoarse breathing sounds due to the essentially comprehensive damage to his vocal cords.

"It sounds a little rough in there, Johner, try to be a little more gentle," Rob sniggered from outside the door.

Calmly swinging the cell door open and peeking out, Peppy spied the guard leaning against the doorframe, looking off into the distance.

"Sure thing," Peppy responded, swiping outward with the shank.

Rob looked over to Peppy, a look of utter confusion and surprise in his eyes as Peppy cut the ape's Adam's apple in half like a piece of canned fruit. His carotid artery completely severed, Rob fell to the floor as dark torrents of blood began to squirt from his slashed neck, painting the grey ferroconcrete walls with a streak of deep red.

Quickly re-entering the cell to find Johner composing himself, despite the blood oozing from his torn larynx, Peppy extended the prison baton and promptly swung the weighted end into Johner's face, connecting with a satisfying crack and sending Johner's head whip lashing backwards. More than a few teeth were split out as thick ropes of blood poured out of Johner's mouth.

"That was for James," Peppy snarled.

Looking for another target on his favorite prison guard, Peppy spied in between Johner's legs and gripped the shank hard, kneeling down and punching upwards, driving the improvised blade into Johner's balls.

A slight, high squeal was all that Johner's compromised larynx could muster.

"That was for _me_," Peppy explained sadistically.

Finding it more appropriate to let Johner live than to kill him, Peppy began to exit the cell.

Just before he left, Peppy looked back at Johner's flailing, agonizing form, adding, "And _don't _call me 'bunny rabbit'."

With that, Peppy slammed the cell door shut and pressed the button on the doorframe labeled 'LOCK'.

The durasteel deadbolt snapped into place with a cold, hard _click_.

Peppy breathed hard, then looked down the cold, stone hallway. About five feet away was the door to the next cell.

It would've been wonderful to open the door and find James waiting for him on the other side, but Peppy knew it was futile.

Instead, he looked further down the hall, where a thick, round holocam was mounted against the wall, close to the ceiling.

Staring at him with its dark eye, Peppy had no idea how long he'd been under surveillance.

Having no idea how much longer he had before more guards came, Peppy sprinted over Rob's body, holding the baton high over his head before swinging it forcefully at the holocam, which burst off of its mounting in a shower of sparks.

Almost immediately after, there was a repetitive wail as the warning alarm sounded.

Not allowing himself to get stressed, Peppy sprinted down the stone hallway, looking for a place to hide.

He soon came to a T-junction, his long ears perking up as he heard the sounds of footsteps and the roars of alarmed people from the corridor to his right. Peppy went left, spying a small storeroom at the end of the hall.

The tiny room was little more than a closet, with no door to speak of. There was, however, a corner in the shadows right next to the doorway that Peppy ducked into just as he heard the approach of several soldiers. He swept his ears down and pinned them against the wall with his head, trying to make himself small as possible.

"This way!" a soldier yelled, running amongst a group of others as they tore down the T-junction, back towards Peppy's cell.

A few moments passed, then another, smaller group approached.

"Where'd you think he went?" a deep, phlegmy voice said.

Peppy's blood boiled and he gripped the baton tighter.

It was _Pigma_.

"He can't have gone far," a dull, almost whiny voice enunciated.

This one was unfamiliar to him, and Peppy stayed cautious, unmoving and hidden.

"Where's Wolf? Wasn't he just behind us?" a rather high, manic voice inquired to the other two.

"He'll catch up," Pigma said with a vocal shrug, "You guys go that way, I'll check over here real quick and meet you guys."

"Let's go, Andrew," the high-voiced speaker said.

Two of the figures walked on.

At that moment, a series of heavy, shuffling footsteps approached Peppy's position, and he thoroughly tensed up, gripping the shank with one hand and the baton in the other.

A shadow darkened the doorway of the storeroom. Peppy held his breath and stayed absolutely still as Pigma's fat head poked through the doorway.

His porcine snout flexing, Pigma's beady eyes shifted from side to side, lazily scanning the storeroom.

Being just below him, just out of his field of view, Pigma didn't see Peppy. As the pig's body inched further into the storeroom, Peppy saw the blaster pistol in Pigma's hand.

It would be so easy to get revenge right now.

After all that he'd done, Pigma more than deserved it, and Peppy could use the gun.

But at the same time, Peppy couldn't forget the armed guards and the other two accomplices that expected Pigma to return in a matter of moments.

There was acid in Peppy's muscles, and he bit his lip as he silently fought the urge to stab into Pigma's neck, or maybe gouge out his eyes, or do _something _other than just sit there and watch him clumsily investigate. But he stayed unmoving, unbreathing, until Pigma shrugged and left.

With a relieved, almost ashamed sigh, Peppy gathered himself up and peeked around the edge of the doorway, seeing the hallway empty and quiet aside from the still-ringing alarm.

He quickly moved on, carefully darting past the hallway that Pigma and the guards had journeyed down, and continuing through the base. Peppy had no idea where he was going, nor did he really have any cohesive plan on how to escape. He supposed he would just have to improvise some more.

Passing another hallway full of prison cells, Peppy came across a stairwell and journeyed upwards one floor, finding the alarms to get much quieter after scaling one level. Exiting the ferroconcrete staircase, Peppy found himself in a large, broad hallway with several doorways leading to rooms along the corridor. Bright, yellow glow panels in the ceiling told Peppy that he was no longer in the detention level. In the quietness, he could hear the voices and movements of several people in the various rooms, which meant that it was only a matter of time before one of them came out.

His head darting from side to side, Peppy chose the closest room that sounded quiet, a small office across the hall, and quietly scampered into the room.

The office was rather sparse, consisting of a small desk with a plasma computer mounted on top, with a somewhat cheap-looking chair.

As Peppy moved forward, searching for something else he could use as a weapon, he heard a distinctive _click_ behind him.

Gripping the baton hard, Peppy whirled around and found himself staring down the barrel of a Cygnet Model 1811 Disruptor pistol.

"Howdy," a rough, deep voice drawled.

Peppy saw on the other side of the Cygnet a tall, scruffy wolf in a black and white flight suit, a red scarf and a brown duster. The wolf's lavender right eye was hard and narrow, and looked out at Peppy with a level of sadistic intensity. A black eye patch covered the spot where his left eye used to be.

Almost forgetting the disruptor, Peppy was struck by how young the wolf was. It was then that he remembered James mentioning something about a one-eyed wolf during their first few days of confinement, and how he must've been as young as Fox.

Peppy had to agree.

"It's a little early for you ta' be outta time out, don't ya' think?" the wolf smirked, keeping the disruptor level with Peppy's face, which was almost six inches above the wolf's eyes.

Peppy examined the disruptor for a moment, noting the presence of the large, rotating gas chamber in front of the trigger. That little modification probably gave the pistol enough power to vaporize Peppy where he stood.

After a moment's silence of waiting for the wolf to fry him, Peppy inquired calmly, "Are you going to kill me?"

"Naw, I don't think so," the wolf smiled.

Almost irritated, Peppy quietly demanded, "What do you want?"

"I wanna go starfighter-to-starfighter with James McCloud," the wolf smirked.

"James McCloud is dead," Peppy snapped fearlessly.

"I _know_," the wolf retorted with an annoyed roll of his eye, "I had ta' _watch_."

Peppy glared at the wolf with a look of confusion and disgust.

"Word has it James McCloud had a rug-rat of his own," the wolf sighed, "They say he's pretty damn talented. _Almost _as good as his daddy,"

"What's this got to do with anything?" Peppy interrogated.

"Ya' know, I could blast you ta' bits right now, if I wanted to," the wolf snarled, "So hows 'bout you gimme a little patience?"

Peppy stayed silent, looking into that hard lavender eye, not into the barrel of the disruptor pistol.

"You're tha' last member a' Team StarFox," the wolf growled, "An' they say that kid a' his is good. Since I couldn't fight tha' fox himself all proper, I want ya' ta' make sure McCloud _Junior_ is every bit as good as his daddy was. 'Cause ya' got ta' know that Andross is gonna be comin' for tha' rest a' Lylat, which means that _I'm_ gonna be comin' for it. And I don't want it ta' be some kinda' cakewalk. When we meet up again, I want you ta' make sure he _brings _it, 'cause I'm gonna bring it hard. Ya' understand?"

Peppy was confounded, his jaw dropping just a bit.

"You're letting me _go_?" Peppy inquired somewhat incredulously.

The wolf chuckled.

"_Hell_ no, old man," the wolf scoffed, "I'm givin' you a five minute head start."

With that, the wolf lowered the disruptor and stepped aside, beckoning towards the door.

"If you get ta' tha' ventilation ducts, work your way west. You'll reach tha' turbo-lifts. Ride 'em two levels up, an' you'll find yourself at tha' hangar they're keepin' your ship at," the wolf explained.

Peppy stared at the young, scruffy wolf in disbelief.

"Better hurry up an' hop away, bunny rabbit," the wolf grinned, "Tha' clock's a-tickin'."

Slowly, Peppy made his way past the wolf, leaving the office and sprinting quietly down the hall.

Out of his sight, the wolf holstered his disruptor and sighed in disillusionment.

Peppy barreled down the hallway, running past various open doorways, searching for a ventilation grate that he might be able to break into.

Whipping around a corner, Peppy ran right into a pair of armed guards, a crow and an ape, and all three of them froze in surprise.

The guards were the first to react, reaching for their blaster pistols and screaming, "Hands in the air, fucker! Drop the weapons!"

Peppy was moving forward before their hands had reached their holsters, leaping over to the guards and swinging the weighted end of his baton into the crow's beak.

With a crunch of bone and a squirt of blood, the crow squawked in pain and fell to the side, against the ape. The ape guard stumbled and moved forward, right into Peppy's soaring paw.

Peppy felt a sting in his knuckles as he drove his fist into the ape's jaw, knocking the guard backwards and tripping him over the collapsed form of his companion.

Peppy bolted, too scared of attracting the attentions of other armed guards to grab either one of their side arms.

"HELP!!" the ape shouted, struggling to get up, "Somebody stop him!"

Peppy heard the hissing snap of a blaster firing, instinctively ducking as a red laser beam shot over his head and impacted the corridor wall, exploding in a shower of sparks.

A number of screams and shouts of alarm could be heard from the depths of the corridor as another blaster bolt whizzed by Peppy's face.

It wouldn't be long before a lot more guards showed up.

Peppy shot behind another corner, mainly for cover, and almost missed the large ventilation grate up against the wall.

Frantically, Peppy slammed the baton into the grating, bending the metal inwards but not breaking it open.  
Peppy smashed the baton into the grate again, still doing little more than further deform it.

"Come on, you bitch!" Peppy snapped, cocking the baton over his shoulder and bringing it against the grate once again with a yell.

The grate snapped apart with a metallic shriek.

Peppy could hear footsteps swiftly approaching.

He grabbed a hold of the torn grate and pulled, stretching the thin metal more, tearing it open further. With a final tug, the grate came free, and Peppy stumbled backwards slightly, as the jagged piece of metal grate in his hands sliced into his palm and drew blood.

Disregarding the red liquid oozing from his right paw, soaking the grey fur red and warming it up in a sickening fashion, Peppy kicked open the rest of the grate and dived forward into the dark space, crawling into the shadows until he felt his feet slide into the ventilation duct.

The blood was dripping from his palm, leaving a trail of red that stained his chest and legs as he crawled further, blindly, into the blackness.

Taking the first corner that he felt out, Peppy almost got stuck as he dragged himself fully out of sight, just as the running footsteps reached the grate.

"Shit, he's in the vents!" one of them exclaimed, "Sound the alarm!"

A pair of blaster shots echoed deafeningly in the ducts as the guards vainly fired in an attempt to stop Peppy's progress. Peppy smiled to himself as he shuffled his way into the dark.

He owed that scary little wolf one.

Unable to orient himself west, Peppy just continued forwards, letting his intuition tell him which way to go when he felt out a turn.

A checkerboard of light appeared up ahead, and Peppy could hear the muffled sounds of far-off voices.

He tried to make himself as quiet as possible as he continued, dragging himself through the tight enclosed durasteel tunnel.

Peppy was glad that he wasn't claustrophobic.

As he passed the ventilation grate, he heard a pair of guards arguing outside, seeing two pairs of booted feet framed in the grate.

"Flush him out, then!" one guard snapped, "Pump the vents full of CN-20; just nerve gas the shit outta him!"

"It's _central _air, dumbass," the other guard retorted, "Gas the vents and you'll gas the whole _base_!"

"Issue rebreathers to everyone. Or seal off the floors that we know he hasn't gotten to yet," the guard shrugged verbally.

"Hell-o! It's _nerve _gas! You'd need a full HEV suit to be alright," the other guard struck down.

"Well, we could go in there _after _him," the guard suggested.

"Oh yeah, that's a _great_ idea," the other guard mocked, "Crawling around inside a system of dark, confined vents, looking for a prisoner armed with a _knife_. And let's not even _think_ about what would happen if one of us got _stuck_."

"Well how the hell he'd get in there, anyway?" the guard demanded.

"He opened a grate and crawled _in_," the other guard said slowly, "What's the big mystery?"

"I know _how_, smartass; what I mean is how was he able to?" the guard growled, "Every ventilation grate in this place is big enough for someone to just open up and crawl into. What kind of moron designs a _military _base with vents big enough to fit a _person_? Sounds like a pretty big loophole in security if you ask me."

With that, the guard kicked the grate lightly, and Peppy froze, scared that he'd been spotted.

"Don't ask me, _I_ didn't design it!" the other guard snapped.

Peppy moved on, allowing himself an inaudible chuckle of amusement as he crawled back into the darkness.

He spent what felt like twenty more minutes slithering through the ducts, groping blindly through the darkness and the dust and the labyrinth turns. He began to think that he might not ever get out, simply trapped forever in this duct system on Venom. His hand was still wet with blood, though the bleeding had slowed a bit.

As he continued on, Peppy heard a distinct mechanical rumble that lightly shook the grates.

Fearing that they had done something to kill him while he was in the vents, Peppy froze up.

Then the rumbling continued with nothing happening, and curious, Peppy crawled ahead, where the dimmest of lights could be seen in the distance.

Working his way down to the grate at the end of the duct, Peppy looked out into a dark, cylindrical shaft, empty and vacant aside from the rumbling that issued from it.

A dark shape whooshed past the grate and stopped about a yard below, confirming Peppy's hopes: somehow, he'd found the turbolifts.

Quickly, he gripped the baton in his bloody right hand and jabbed forward into the grate, hearing the metal screech and deform in response. He smashed it again, and this time the grate fell outward, dropping out of the wall of the shaft and onto the top of the turbolift car.

Peppy slithered forwards and grabbed both sides of the open passage, already hearing the turbolift powering up to move on.

With a mighty heave, he pulled himself forward, his one hand almost slipping from the blood soaking it, pulling himself out into the shaft up to his waist.  
Just as he began to push himself out further, gravity went to work on Peppy and he fell fully out of the ventilation ducts, landing in a heap on top of the turbolift car.

His side aching, Peppy gritted his teeth in anxiety as a voice from below said, "Did you hear something?"

"Don't pull that shit on me, you're not getting out of this that easily," another voice said, "Lemme see the pictures."

Peppy let out a relieved sigh as the turbolift hummed to life and began to ascend. He picked himself up and tried to find a hatch to enter the interior of the turbolift car.

"It's my _girlfriend_," the voice whined.

"And you lost the bet," the other voice shrugged, "Which means I get to take a look at those pictures of your girlfriend's big, plastic boobs."

"They are _not_ that bad," the voice argued.

Peppy found the hatch, seeing that it could be opened from the inside and would need to be pried open.

He readied his shank, pressing it into the crack between the hatch and the rest of the turbolift.

"I'm not saying they're _bad_," the other voice remarked, "I'm saying they're _fake_."

"They are _not_!" the voice protested.

Peppy began to pry the hatch, feeling it nudge and give way almost instantly just as the glass blade of the shank cracked. He opened it slowly, and said a silent thank-you to whoever made the hinges of the hatch so quiet.

In the turbolift car were a pair of guards in maroon uniforms and black helmets. One of them had a pair of curling ram's horns protruding from the helmet, the other had a naked rat's tail coming out of the seat of it's pants.

The baton gripped firm in his hands, Peppy decided to target the ram first.

"No offense, Mort, but I've _seen_ mouse-girls before. All of them have mosquito-bite tits," the ram explained, "Saying that your girlfriend's tits are _natural_ is kind of like me trying to pass my _horns_ off as a new hair style. It's a ball-faced lie and everyone knows it."

"Shut _up_," said Mort, "Sheila does _not_ have implants."

"Oh, is that what _she _told you?" the ram scoffed.

Mort never had a chance to answer, as Peppy dropped from the hatch into the turbolift, halfway falling on top of the ram, halfway shoving him into the wall of the elevator.

Mort the rat was too stunned to do anything but drop his jaw as Peppy yanked the blaster pistol out of the ram's holster.

As soon as the blaster was in Peppy's hand, however, both of them proceeded to go nuts.

"What the _fuck_?!" the ram screamed, struggling to bring himself to his feet as Mort gasped and fumbled to draw his own blaster.

Not even taking time to breathe, Peppy put the blaster right up to Mort's chest and fired at point blank range.

The blaster pistol barked and shot a red bolt of energy that blew a hole right through the rat's chest and scorched the wall of the turbolift car behind him.

"MORT!" the ram shouted, struggling to get up, but Peppy grabbed him by one of his horns and pressed the end of the blaster pistol to the back of the ram's neck.

"Shut up," Peppy snapped, pressing the EMERGENCY STOP button on the turbolift, feeling the car jerk for a moment as it braked to a standstill.

Mort's corpse slid down the wall until it slouched on the floor, a smoking, black hole poking through its maroon uniform.

The ram breathed hard, nervous and scared as Peppy dug the barrel of the blaster into the ram's flesh.

"Woah, don't kill me, man," the ram pleaded.

"You would kill _me_," Peppy snarled, "Your friends downstairs were _going_ to kill me. Your boss_ wants_ to kill me. Just what is it that makes _you_ so undeserving now that the tables have turned?"

"_Please_, please God, don't kill me!" the ram sobbed.

"Beg to _me_!!" Peppy barked, "_God_ doesn't live on _this_ planet."

"Alright…" the ram cried, "Please, please…."

"Where are they keeping the Arwings they captured?" Peppy demanded.

"The what?" the ram murmured.

"The _Arwings_!!" Peppy roared, "The ships they captured! WHERE! ARE! THEY?!"

The ram yelped in panic as Peppy raised his hoarse voice.

"Level 3," the ram choked out, "Please don't kill me."

"I heard you the first time," Peppy snapped.

The turbolift had risen to level 7 by that time, stopped between level 7 and 8 by the emergency stop. Peppy disengaged the stop button and pressed the button for level 3.

The turbolift began to descend.

"If I don't kill you, are you going to stay here and keep out of my way?" Peppy demanded.

"Yes!" the ram cried.

"I don't believe you," Peppy snarled.

"I swear," the ram exhaled nervously, "I swear you'll never see me again."

The turbolift reached Level 3, the doors opening to reveal a hallway with durasteel-plated walls.

Peppy quickly backed away and collapsed the baton, stuffing it into the pocket of his flight suit, then grabbed Mort's blaster up from the floor of the turbolift car.

As he stepped out of the turbolift, one blaster in each hand, Peppy aimed at the ram's foot and fired off a shot.

The blaster gave off a pop and sent a bolt of energy searing through the ram's boot.

The ram began to scream loudly and curse as the turbolift doors shut.

"Compromise," Peppy whispered.

He took off down the hallway, keeping his blasters low to minimize his profile. He didn't bother to shoot any of the holocams he passed, it would just trigger another alarm. That wolf had given him a five-minute head start, long since expired, and had likely told the guards where Peppy would be. As he continued down the hall, he could indeed hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Don't let him make it to the hangar!" someone shouted from down the hall.

Peppy could hear them coming up to meet him, probably just around the corner.

"He's coming up here right now!" a guard shouted.

Peppy stopped, pausing against the corner in the hallway.

He could hear them, just around the bend, readying their weapons. There were a lot of them. More than likely, they were all issued blaster rifles, instead of just pistols.

For a moment, Peppy regretted not bringing the ram guard along. He could've used him as a shield.

Peppy growled and gritted his teeth.

He didn't come this far just to die now. And if he was meant to die here, he might as well do it in style.

Gripping the handles of the two blasters in his hands, Peppy breathed in, then out.

Then he leapt around the corner, pointing each blaster forward.

Peppy spotted a group of twelve guards, all armed with DC-2 blaster rifles, and none of them were expecting him to come around the corner guns blazing.

Peppy had already pulled the triggers and fired a blaster bolt into the chests of two of the guards before the others even knew he was there.

A cry of alarm rose up from the guards, who fell back, readying their rifles and aiming wildly, firing out of blind fear. Peppy fired two more shots into the group, and two more guards dropped dead.

It was then that Peppy bolted back around the corner as dozens of green blaster bolts began to rain out down the hallway, peppering the ferroconcrete floor just as Peppy took cover.

"Fuck! He's packing!" one of the guards roared in alarm.

_Only eight more_, Peppy thought to himself, _you can do this._

Peppy ducked down, knowing they'd be aiming for someone standing upright, and swung his arm around the corner, firing a shot at another guard, hitting the ape in the stomach and sending him falling to the ground in a fit of screams.

Peppy pulled his arm back just as the soldiers began to yell in alarm and fire repeatedly at the section of the hallway that Peppy once occupied.

"We need backup!" one guard screamed.

"Rush him!" another yelled.

"No way!" was the response.

Peppy smiled.

"I'll do it!" another snapped, and Peppy heard a series of quick running footsteps.

Peppy leapt up and retreated a few meters down the hall, moving to the other side of the corridor and leveling both of his blasters at the corner.

Just as another ape rounded the corner, aiming his rifle at the space that Peppy used to be, Peppy fired both blasters, shooting a pair of red blaster bolts into the ape soldier's chest. The ape flew backwards in a puff of smoke, and the other guards began to curse and yell in surprise.

_Six down. Just take out the other half_, Peppy thought to himself as the soldiers frantically shot at the end of the hallway in hopes of establishing covering fire.

He withdrew the baton from his pocket, extending it once again with a flick of his wrist.

Peppy then threw the baton down the hall, watching as it hit the wall around the corner and create a loud, attention-getting _bang!_

The soldiers yelled in alarm, firing wildly at the baton, the high tension of the situation making them sloppy. Peppy leaned around the corner in the confusion and fired off one, two, then three shots, each one hitting a soldier in his upper chest.

"Shit!" one of the three remaining soldiers yelled, firing at the corner with the other two.

Peppy had already taken cover.

"Run for it!" another soldier screamed.

The firing stopped for a moment, and Peppy flew out from behind the corner, opening fire on a pair of guards.

The two soldiers dropped like stones, whilst a third was in the process of running for his life. Peppy shot him in the back without a moments pause, and he went down with a scream.

One of the soldiers, the one that Peppy had shot in the stomach was still alive, rolling around on the floor in agony, barking for help.

Peppy shot the guard in the face and silenced his cries.

He stood there, for a moment, looking at the twelve dead bodies surrounding him. Peppy closed his eyes soundlessly, breathed in and out.

This was war. It had to be done.

Peppy then shoved one of the blaster pistols into his pocket, tossing the other one to the floor, and picked up one of the rifles that used to belong to the guards.

It felt heavy in his hands, a long and slender weapon of death that fit comfortably into his paws.

Holding the front end of the rifle up with his other hand, Peppy charged forward, past the dead bodies of the guards.

As he ran down the hallway, he almost missed the two large doors labeled with the words 'LEVEL 3 RESEARCH HANGAR'.

Peppy pressed the button on the side of the door, and heard a hydraulic whine as the doors began to slide open.

From down the hall, shouts and heavy steps began to approach. This time, there were a lot more soldiers coming.

He had to hurry.

Peppy slid himself in between the doors just as they parted enough to allow him passage, finding himself inside a cavernous hangar bay with bright display lights beaming down from the ceiling.

The first thing that Peppy noticed was the group of soldiers inside the hangar, who saw him and opened fire.

With an animal yell, Peppy took off, holding down the trigger of the blaster rifle and feeling it kick as it unleashed a hail of green blaster bolts, on full automatic fire.

Peppy strafed the group of guards, circling around them from afar in order to concentrate fire on them and avoid their shots. Dozens of green blaster bolts whizzed by his face and body, heating up the air as the guards began to drop with pathetic screams.

Time seemed to slow for Peppy, and he saw the blaster bolt lance toward him and graze his shoulder, burning a patch of his fur and flesh.

Another blaster shot skimmed his kneecap, and Peppy fell with a cry of pain.

He still didn't take his finger off the trigger, firing and continuing to take down more soldiers, despite his own prostrate position.

Another laser beam shot into his side, leaving a scorching scar across Peppy's right hip.

Peppy bellowed through the pain, spraying the last guard with blaster fire until he fell to the floor in a puff of acrid smoke.

Breathing hard, in pain from the burns all over his body, Peppy felt his body beg for him to surrender.

He was tired.

He was starving.

He was injured more than he'd ever been in his life.

But he'd gotten much too far to give up _now_.

Gnashing his teeth together, Peppy stabbed the butt of the rifle into the ground, using it as a crutch to help him to his feet.

He looked over, past the dead bodies of the soldiers, and saw his salvation:

Sitting on the floor of the hangar, lethal and blade like with their silver frames, like a pair of giant needles with wings swept so far back one would wonder how they could possibly fly, was a pair of prototype Space Dynamics R-16 Arwing star fighters.

Hearing the approach of the large group of soldiers from the hallways outside the hangar, Peppy hurriedly hobbled over to one of them, leaning against one of the thin blue gravity diffusers before climbing onto the side with a grunt of pain.

Detecting his presence, the instrument console lit up and the canopy opened wide.

Ditching the blaster rifle, Peppy dove into the cockpit, wincing with pain as he fidgeted around to get into the seat.

"Come on, come on, come on," Peppy whispered, hearing the approach of the soldiers.

'WELCOME, PEPPY HARE', the computer view screen said to him.

Peppy nodded, glad that the fighter hadn't been tampered with enough to not recognize him, and pressed the red 'ENGINE START' button.

Almost instantly, the two g-diffusers whined to life, rumbling and lifting the fighter into the air a bit.

Peppy looked to the other end of the hangar as he closed the canopy with the press of a button, seeing the large durasteel door over the hangar opening. It would be relatively simple to blast it open with the Arwing's laser cannons. First, however, Peppy wanted to exact some payback.

He hovered the Arwing over the hangar floor, pointing the laser cannons on the wings towards the doorway from the hangar to the hallways.

Not a moment later, a massive group of Venomian soldiers, possibly a whole platoon, began to flood in through the doorway, stopping and aiming their rifles at the Arwing as soon as they entered.

The blaster bolts looked pathetic from the Arwing's cockpit, being absorbed harmlessly by the fighter's deflector shields.

"Not today, boys," Peppy huffed, pressing his thumb to the firing button.

With a shrieking bark, a pair of blue laser blasts erupted from the cannons on the fighter's wings, impacting the floor of the hangar right under the soldiers and causing a massive explosion, throwing many of the Venomians high into the air like rag dolls.

The few surviving soldiers began to frantically run back through the doorway, and Peppy gave off a triumphant laugh as he fired once more for good measure, sending another pair of blue laser shots into the doorway, producing a massive explosion that melted and deformed the metal of the surrounding area.

Pulling back gently on the control stick, Peppy rotated the Arwing until it faced the large door blocking the hangar, targeting the heavy durasteel.

Tapping the firing button multiple times, Peppy watched as several laser blasts lanced from the cannons and impacted the door, shattering it like glass in a glorious explosion of sparks.

The hole blown in the door was just about big enough to fly the Arwing through.

Peppy carefully guided the Arwing through the hole, hearing the wings scrape against the metal ever so slightly near the end, and then found himself hovering outside on the rocky, toxic wastelands of Venom.

The sky was the color of fire, and the rocks the color of sludge, not a single living thing in sight. Dominating the landscape, however, were huge towering monolithic columns of black and brownish-green stone, emblazoned with the face of an ape staring out stoically at whoever would look.

The numerous effigies of Andross made Peppy sick to his stomach.

This is what killed James.

This is what all of Lylat would look like if Andross wasn't stopped.

Peppy shook his head, realizing that he wasn't out of trouble yet. Andross could still scramble swarms of fighters to intercept Peppy.

Knowing how difficult it would be to fly the ship without a headset, Peppy programmed the control panels to simplify themselves as much as possible, in order to concentrate simply on flying.

Peppy didn't know what he'd do if he ended up in a dogfight trying to escape. He could only pray it would be easy from now on.

He powered up the engines and shoved the throttle slowly forward, feeling the engine scream to life and soar gracefully and swiftly into the air.

As the poisonous lands of Venom began to get farther and farther away, Peppy dialed in the order to the main computer to open up a comm. channel with the _Great Fox_, praying that ROB had somehow been able to keep the ship close all this time.

"Come in, _Great Fox_, this is Peppy, do you copy?" Peppy called out.

There was no answer.

Peppy began to breathe harder. He prayed that, after all this, his escape hadn't been for nothing. There was no way he could make it back to Corneria without the _Great Fox_'s warp engines.

"_Great Fox_, this is Peppy, do you _copy_?" Peppy said desperately.

Nothing but silence in response.

It was just like last time.

Had both James and ROB left him, providing only their hopes that Peppy could make it where they couldn't? How much more had Peppy lost?

"ROB, please!" Peppy cried out, on the verge of tears.

"**This is Team StarFox mother ship **_**Great Fox**_**, responding**," ROB-64's synthesized voice sounded over the comm.

"ROB!!" Peppy shouted with joy, "It's great to hear your voice! Where are you?"

"**I have stationed the **_**Great Fox**_** outside of Venom's defense network for the past twelve days**," ROB answered, "**I have awaited for one of you to establish contact since then. What are your orders?**"

Peppy was almost overcome with relief.

He'd made it.

He'd _escaped_.

"Bring the _Great Fox _to the other side of Venom. I'll meet you there; we need to get the hell out of here," Peppy instructed.

"**What is the status of James and Pigma?**" ROB inquired.

Peppy cringed with sorrow and breathed out.

"Mission is aborted," Peppy said quietly, "Pigma has gone rogue. James is dead."

"**I offer my... condolences**," ROB said, as warmly as an android could, "_**Great Fox**_** will meet you at the established rendezvous point. **_**Great Fox**_** out.**"

With that, the comm. cut off, leaving Peppy alone once again as he began to exit the atmosphere of Venom. As the dusty, toxic clouds cleared, Peppy saw the black, starry familiar expanse of space. It was the first time he'd seen the stars in what felt like a lifetime.

And for some reason, they had never felt so lonely.

* * *

SOME FURTHER NOTES:

-For those of you that thought that Wolf's blaster sounded kind of weird-looking, it's because I wanted to hype up that whole 'space cowboy' thing I've got going with Wolf. So his early blaster looks kind of like a six-shooter, with a revolving gas chamber.

-Also, the Arwings sound a little odd-looking because they're _prototype_ Arwings. They were supposed to sound like the ones from the original Star Fox SNES game. That's why it's an R-16 Arwing instead of an R-64 like in "A Great Day To Die". I thought it fit the whole 'past' motif.

-Normally, I would've included a horribly detailed, painful torture scene documenting James' death, but I realized that I already gave you that in "A Great Day To Die"! Sure, it was a hallucination, but that's how I saw James' final moments no matter what. Plus, the story was from Peppy's point of view, so it would've been kind of out of place.

Hope you guys are enjoying this. Reviewing me helps me write faster, so keep it up. And Kadhil, thanks for coming along for this story, too.


	5. Touching The Sky

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **For some reason, I got such a kick out of writing this one; I couldn't stop writing until I was done. When I was writing the beginning scenes, all I could think of was how much it reminded me of a South Park episode in some ways. And when I was writing the flight scenes, I just couldn't help but include a barrel-roll reference. Again, this takes place _before_ "A Hero Died For Me", generally about a few weeks after "The Full Moon". Not that it makes too much of a difference, since this is Fox's story, but…never mind. Just read _

* * *

**-Touching The Sky-**

"Don't take my kill!" Bill Grey screamed across the couch, mashing the buttons on his controller.

"Didn't see your name on it, pup," Fox McCloud sniggered deviously as he guided the holographic space fighter across the large display.

A massive space battle raged upon the wall, created by the high-definition holoprojector of the McCloud household, as two Cornerian IF-14 Ultima star fighters zoomed through an asteroid field infested with space pirates.

"Hey, Slippy!" Bill demanded in an accusatory tone, "Are you using the hyper-shields cheat?"

"Not a cheat if you rank up" Slippy Toad shrugged, crouching on the floor near the couch.

"You switched teams, didn't you, you backstabbing dork?!" Bill snapped at the frog angrily, some spittle forming at the side of his mouth.

Slippy's only response was to take one hand off of his controller and raise his middle finger in Bill's direction.

"Oooh, I'm telling my dad on you, Slip," Fox teased.

"Let's smoke him, Fox!" Bill snarled.

"Gladly," Fox smirked.

In the holographic asteroid field, the two Ultimas flew in formation over a large meteorite, facing down a malevolent-looking space pirate star fighter.

"Surprise, newbies," Slippy grinned, pressing a button on his controller.

The space pirate fighter spat out a fat, red oval shape that lanced over to the Ultimas.

Fox's fighter performed a fast loop through space as the proton bomb exploded, blasting Bill's fighter to smithereens.

"Oh! You bomb-whore!!!" Bill shouted, throwing his controller angrily to the ground.

Slippy threw his head back and opened his large mouth in a mockingly malevolent laugh.

"Avenge me, Fox!" Bill ordered.

Fox's Ultima barrel-rolled between two asteroids, then its engines flared as it boosted forward through space in pursuit of Slippy's pirate ship.

"I've got hyper-shields, Fox," Slippy sniffed haughtily as Fox's Ultima began pelting the pirate ship with laser blasts, "What's that going to do?"

"You're not the only bomb-whore, Slip," Fox grinned, tapping one of his controller buttons.

On the holoprojection, Fox's Ultima fighter unleashed an orange missile that snaked its way around an asteroid and struck Slippy's pirate ship, which exploded in a blue flare of light.

"HAH!" Bill shouted, "You got owned, Slippy, you pirate douche!!!"

"Bill!" Fox hushed, "My dad'll hear."

Fox looked back at the screen, showing Fox's victory and the stats from the latest match.

For the trio of eight year-olds, War Games was one of the only ways to truly do all of the space fighting and action that they all dreamed about.

They all had their reasons for wanting the life.

Fox wanted to do all of the things that his dad told him about, all of the heroics and adventures that made Team StarFox so cool to begin with.

Slippy was fascinated by the workings of high-performance spacecraft, having made his own crude designs even at his young age.

Bill, the loud-mouthed American Bulldog that had become one of Fox's best friends, was interested because his family had been pilots for generations.

"Fox, has your dad ever blown up a space pirate ship before?" Bill asked.

"Sure he has," Fox shrugged.

"Has he ever, like, killed anyone before?" Bill inquired.

"Yeah," Fox responded.

"Cool," Bill nodded.

There seemed to be a pause in the conversation, a moment of silence in which none of them could think of anything else to say.

"System off," Fox sighed.

"**Affirmative. Shutting down**," the holoprojector responded, and the holographic asteroid field disappeared.

"Your dad's never, like, took you _flying_ before, has he?" Bill asked tenderly.

"Yeah, he has," Fox said defensively.

"In his _Arwing_? Nuh-uh!" Bill denied with a touch of envy.

"No," Fox replied glumly, "Just in his stupid _shuttle_. And in the _Great Fox_."

"We've _all _been in the _shuttle_. _And_ in the _Great Fox_. It's nothing special, Fox," Bill shot down.

"I heard Lucy's dad took her flying," Slippy piped up, "In his Arwing."

"That's because Lucy's a little brat. Her dad does whatever she wants," Bill growled.

"Lucy's _dad_ is in the next room, too," Fox warned, "He's going to hear you."

"He's not _my _dad," Bill explained haughtily, "_He _can't punish me."

With that, Bill looked around and called out, much louder this time, "Lucy Hare is a spoiled brat!"

"You watch your mouth, Bill!" Peppy Hare's voice erupted from the next room, "I know your parents wouldn't mind a bit if I slapped some respect into you!"

Bill's ears lowered a bit in fear, and his mouth clamped shut.

"Wow, Bill, you're _so_ brave," Slippy remarked.

"Shut up, Slippy," Bill hissed.

"Mr. McCloud!" Slippy yelled, "Bill told me to shut up!"

"Bill!" James McCloud called from the kitchen, "Play nice or I'm taking you home."

"Yes, Mr. McCloud, sir," Bill called back, looking at Slippy's smug face and sticking out his tongue.

In response, Slippy stuck out his tongue, which shot out of his pie hole and extended two feet across the room before snapping back into his mouth.

"Gross!" Bill exclaimed.

"Nice comeback, Slip," Fox remarked with a lopsided smile.

Again, they found themselves in a moment of silence, sitting on the pale blue couch in the grey living room of the McCloud house, looking out the large windows to the Cornerian skyline and it's bustling lanes of air traffic.

"You could, like, go ask him to take you flying in his Arwing, though, right?" Bill inquired.

"He said he'd take me when I was _older_," Fox sighed, slouching down into the couch, picking some lint off of his green tee shirt.

"When'd he say that?" Bill asked.

"A while ago. Why?" Fox responded, barely interested.

"Because, you could say that you're older _now_. Since, you know, time's passed since you asked him the last time," Slippy piped up.

"Yeah, way to steal my idea, Slippy," Bill snapped.

"Wouldn't be so easy to steal if you'd come up with something _original_ now and again, instead of just complaining all the time," Slippy shrugged.

"Do you _want_ me to hurt you, Slip?" Bill retorted, "Is your life just _so_ miserable that you _want_ me to beat you up, just so you can get some of my time and feel important?"

"Guys…" Fox moaned with a roll of his eyes.

"No, Bill, I want you to shut your mouth for a moment and see what a jerk you're being," Slippy shot back.

"You know what _I _see, Slippy?" Bill snarled, "I see a dead frog!"

Bill got up from the couch, his green jacket ruffled, and he began to move towards Slippy.

"Guys!" Fox barked, grabbing Bill by the sleeve of his jacket, "Cool it."

With a grimace of disapproval, Bill sat back down on the couch, crossing his arms.

"_He _started it," Bill grumbled.

"Did not," Slippy murmured under his breath.

"I don't care!" Fox interrupted, "Don't start on this!"

The two of them settled down.

"I'm going to get something to drink," Fox said, "While I'm in there, I'll ask him, but I _know_ he'll say no. Meanwhile, try not to kill each other."

"Sure," Bill mumbled.

"Fine" Slippy sighed.

Fox got up from the couch and walked across the living room to the kitchen doorway.

Despite what he'd told Bill, Fox prayed in the back of his mind that he might be able to convince his father. Fox wanted to feel what it was like in an Arwing more than anything else. His heart pounded in anticipation as he approached the kitchen.

Inside the beige-tiled kitchen, sitting at the table were the three members of Team StarFox.

Pigma Dengar sat back in his chair, his immense size almost too big for the chair to contain, picking away at a can of cashew nuts with one hand and stroking a bottle of Old Major beer with another. The white Team StarFox jacket wrapped around Pigma's back looked about one bad move away from busting a seam.

About a third around the table sat Peppy Hare in his red and black flight suit and long, white Team StarFox coat. Peppy's grey ears stood erect on his head as he took a drink of the bottle of Luath Draft at his seat then set it back down, wiping some traces of froth from his whiskers.

At the other third of the table, in a green and black flight suit sat James McCloud, almost regal with his pale, nearly golden brown fur and distinctive sunglasses on his face. James was reclining backwards; his sunglasses lowered on his muzzle with his deep blue eyes peeking out from overtop the dark lenses. Nearly drained at James' seat was another bottle of Luath Draft.

"That's what I'm saying," James remarked to the others, "I dunno about this whole 'propaganda' thing they're doing. Ever since we licensed those guys to promote our image, its like they're making StarFox out to be some superhero team instead of mercenaries. Do you know they're making Team StarFox _toys_ now?"

"End up makin' more money off of the toys than the jobs themselves," Pigma snorted.

"Now, how's that make any sense?" Peppy griped, "Why is it that a toy line makes more money than saving people's lives? Where's the justice in that?"

"Mebbe we're in the wrong business," Pigma chortled.

"That's not even _funny_, Pigma," James breathed, "I could _never_ be some corporate suit, no matter what I'm selling. My dad did enough of that. No money in the galaxy's worth that."

"Easy for you to say, rich boy," Pigma gurgled, chugging his beer.

"Hey, _son_ of a rich boy, thank you," James clarified, "All the money my dad left me went into the _Great Fox_ and everything in it. Just the luck of the draw being born Connor McCloud's son."

"C'mon, James," Peppy shrugged, "Don't apologize for being born lucky. I know _I'm _thankful. At least _I _don't have to worry about an eighty-year loan on the _Great Fox_."

"Yeah, all you've got to worry about are the dance lessons Vivian drags you off to," James added with a smirk.

Pigma began to snort with laughter as Peppy flinched with humiliation.

"Viv likes to dance; _sue _me," Peppy growled, taking a drink, "It keeps _her_ happy."

Pigma made a flick of his wrist and a whistling click sound like the crack of a whip.

"I don't care if I'm whipped; I get _laid_," Peppy shrugged, adding viciously with a glare at Pigma, "Unlike _some_ people."

Pigma rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer.

James stared off in the distance, not laughing.

For some reason, Fox decided to watch them rather than moving forward and interrupting. None of them had noticed his presence yet.

"What's on?" James sighed, pressing a button on the holoprojector in the middle of the table.

At that moment, three miniaturized displays appeared in thin air, in front of the faces of James, Peppy, and Pigma, showing news coverage.

The screen showed a large stadium with thousands of people gathered, most of them apes. The sky above the stadium was an orange-goldish red, the color of fire. The footage then focused on a podium near the stadium, with a text crawl displayed on the screen that read: "ANDROSS' STATEMENT TO THE VENOMIAN PUBLIC"

"Shit, they're _still _talking about this?" Pigma grumbled.

James and Peppy shushed him as an imposing ape with dark skin and hair, dressed in a black military uniform and with eyes like molten lava approached the podium.

Whoever the ape was, he didn't look friendly.

"My dearest friends, male and female, ape and ally of ape, people of Venom, today we mark a transition," The ape declared, "Today, many on Corneria would hope that they have closed the door on the issue of speciesism. Today, many on Corneria and throughout all of Lylat would hope that we would stand by, submissively, with this abandoned rock that they have given us to call home. Today, Lylat would hope that we would no longer be a nuisance to them. Today, they are wrong."

"God damn it, what's he going to do now?" Peppy whispered under his breath.

"We have been given the chance we require, my brothers and sisters!" The ape continued in his booming, exotic voice, "Today, we do not have _independence_. Today, we do not have _freedom_. Today, we have a _chance_. A _chance_ to get what is rightfully ours, what has been denied to us by the conservatives and the liberals, the prime ministers and the generals, the atheists and the Lylatians alike."

"Sheesh," Pigma remarked, "Chimpo sounds like a priest."

James bade Pigma to stay quiet.

"I must say from the outset that I do not define myself by politics," the ape spoke, "So I am speaking here not as a conservative nor a liberal, a prime minister nor a general, an atheist nor a Lylatian, in fact not even as a Cornerian. Because if I were a Cornerian, the problem that confronts our people wouldn't even exist! So I must stand here today as what I was when I was born: an _ape_."

A wave of applause and cheers could be heard as the crowd within the stadium voiced their support.

"Before there was any such thing as a conservative or a liberal, we were _apes_," The primate declared, "Before there were prime ministers and generals, we were _apes_. Before there was any such thing as an atheist or a Lylatian, we were _apes_. In fact, before there was ever any such place as Corneria, we were _apes_. And after Corneria has long since crumbled and collapsed, we will _still_ be apes."

Again, the crowd applauded raucously.

"Look at how they follow his every word," James whispered, "No matter what he says to them."

"I'm going to tell the story as it exists, as I have told you for the past decade now. Every election year, they send politicians all over the Lylat System to pacify us," The ape accused, "They're sent and set up, by the dogs and the rabbits and the foxes and the cats! This is what they do! They deny us decent housing if we wish to live in their cities! They deny us decent jobs if we wish to make a living rather than becoming thieves and robbers like they say we will! They deny us decent wages, reducing us to little more than the downtrodden serfs they bred us to be centuries ago! They deny us equality, justice, education, and all of those other pretty-sounding words that they reserve for themselves! They deny us the Lylat System that _we _deserve—NO MORE!!!"

The masses cheered with angry support. Fox, unable to understand exactly what it all meant, assumed that the ape was saying something good.

"I say we REFUSE to stop here!" The ape demanded, "I say that we _refuse_ to be confined to this harsh wasteland as our only vestige of justice! I say, we continue! We work, to make Lylat a Lylat for apes! For all people that they have seen fit to oppress, apes and chameleons, rats and wolves and crocodiles, civilian and criminal alike. I say, we make Lylat _our_ Lylat, and bring about our complete freedom by _any means necessary_."

The populace applauded and hooted in agreement, many raising their fists to the blazing sky.

"They will fight us. They will resist us. They will try to oppress you again," the ape insisted, "Which is why we must take up arms against them, for our own defense. We did not come this far, to have our own world in which we are freer than we _ever_ were in Corneria and it's Commonwealth, only to be intimidated. We will all take part in our defense. As we campaign for justice, we will arm ourselves to insure that our safe haven of Venom is _never_ taken away from us! We will arm, and we will resist them, and we will be prepared for the day that all of Lylat accepts us as we are. I beg you only to follow me, to stand beside me, and I vow on this day that I will make you PROUD to be apes and chameleons, rats and wolves and crocodiles, civilians and criminals, of the Venomian Empire of Andross!"

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause and support.

"AN! DROSS! AN! DROSS! AN! DROSS!" the crowd shouted, raising their fists to the sky.

The ape spread his hands outward, a smile on his face.

"Turn this shit off," Peppy growled, and James deactivated the holoprojector.

"What's Parliament's response to _that_?" James demanded.

"From what I hear, nothing," Pigma shrugged, "They say Venom's got a right to defend itself and a right to take pride in itself. It's an independent planet now, so it's not Parliament's problem any more."

"Something tells me it's going to be _some_body's problem," Peppy remarked.

"They don't realize what Andross _is_," James stated, "Or they don't _want_ to realize it."

"What do you mean?" Pigma inquired.

"Well, first, Andross isn't smart the way they think he is. He doesn't invent new things. He invents ways to do things for much cheaper than they're supposed to be. All of those starship designs, refineries, industries, all of that that sprung up on Venom, it's because Andross made it so that it could be done cheaper than it could on Corneria. That's how Venom got so rich. Rich enough to buy it's independence. Rich enough to build an army _very _quick," James explained, "Second, because of all of the things he's done, and how much prosperity Andross brought to Venom, the apes see him as their hero. But, really, I don't think he cares about the apes, or anyone else that much. I think he just acts like it because people will follow him. It gives him _control_."

"How do you know all of this?" Peppy asked.

"Pepper and I have talked. He's trying to do things to control Venom and keep an eye on Andross, but Parliament won't let him. The Prime Minister and Pepper have a grudge, and the Minister and the rest of Parliament want to get apes out of Corneria and onto Venom, while at the same time looking like they're not speciesist. Pepper doesn't trust Andross. He thinks Andross has got something planned."

"Like what?" Peppy said.

"What would Andross do with his own army and a planet full of people that'll do just about whatever he says?" James presented, "Use your imagination, Peppy."

Peppy looked utterly chilled by James' words, and suddenly saw Fox in the doorway.

"We've got a visitor, James," Peppy said with a cordial smile.

James smoothly looked over at the doorway, leaning back and putting his feet on the table.

"Hey, son. What's shakin?" James inquired with a crooked smile.

"Just came in to get something to drink," Fox shrugged, walking past the table, over to the cabinets.

"Can you reach up to where we keep the cups?" James inquired with casual caution.

"Dad, I've been able to do that for a while," Fox responded.

James smiled deeper.

"Sometimes I forget," James replied.

As Fox stood on his toes, nudging open the cabinets with his paw, his bushy red tail swishing a bit, Peppy leaned back and propped his feet up on the table as well.

"Peppy," James said calmly.

"Yeah?" Peppy replied.

"_Feet_," James intoned bluntly.

Peppy looked at James, confounded.

"What about 'em?" Peppy inquired.

"They're on the _table_," James informed him.

"So are yours," Peppy said.

"Yeah, but it's mytable," James grunted.

"Sorry," Peppy said awkwardly, sliding his feet off of the table and sitting back up.

"I'm kidding, Peppy, I don't care," James grinned.

Peppy grimaced at James as Fox grasped a small glass.

Fox looked back at his father, his breath short.

James' blue eyes met Fox's green ones with assured calmness, giving nothing away.

"Yeah, Fox?" James inquired.

Fox almost didn't have the courage to ask.

"Dad…" Fox inquired tentatively, "Can you take me flying in the Arwing?"

James looked Fox up and down silently, his jaw working over just a bit. Fox suddenly felt very small.

James smiled softly, his blue eyes shining.

"Sure," James shrugged.

Fox was so shocked, he almost dropped his glass. A wave of disbelief and joy spread onto his face, to which James chuckled in response.

"James," Peppy said, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Why not, Peppy?" James said, "It's not like I'm going to let him take it for a spin all on his own. He's just going to sit in my lap while we do a few fly-bys of the city. What harm could it do?"

"It's a high-performance military star fighter," Peppy remarked dryly, "You're right, what could go wrong?"

"You know, Peppy, you might have a point…" James said, and Fox's heart sank.

James smiled and winked at Fox, then looked back at Peppy.

"Or, at least you would, if you hadn't taken Lucy up in _yours_," James smirked.

Peppy's mouth opened slightly, and it looked as if he was about to say something, but couldn't quite word it right. In the end, Peppy just stayed silent.

James' feet came down from the table and he stood to his feet, walking a few steps towards the doorway out of the kitchen, then stopping and looking back at Fox.

"You coming?" James inquired of his son, "Or do you want to get something to drink instead?"

Fox put the glass down on the counter and rushed to James' side, walking parallel with him as they entered the living room. Bill and Slippy looked over at Fox quizzically as he passed, getting the message about two seconds before James opened the front door to the house. James and Fox stepped out onto the front lawn, looking out on the vast cityscape of Corneria.

The house itself was planted right on top of one of Corneria City's many skyscrapers, a common fixture for Corneria's moderately rich. The house itself had once belonged to James' rich father, who had left it to James in his will.

Across the grass was a large landing pad, where a trio of R-16 Arwing star fighters lay dormant. In the corner of the landing pad as well was a gleaming red AirTech XJ-2 sky car, a hot-rodded hovercraft that James used for local transport around Corneria.

Bill and Slippy were following close behind as James led his son to the landing pad.

"You're really going to take him up?!" Bill exclaimed ecstatically.

"That's right, Bill," James smiled, patting Fox on the back of the head.

"You're _really_ cool, Mr. McCloud, sir," Bill grinned.

"Hey, Bill," Slippy remarked, "You've got something _brown_ on your nose."

"What?" Bill remarked, stopping and wiping a paw over his cold, wet nose.

When the paw came away un-smudged, Bill looked over at Slippy quizzically, then his eyes flashed in revelation.

"Ohh," Bill said, finally understanding, "You're a douchebag, Slippy,"

"Knock it off, Bill," Peppy ordered as he and Pigma exited the house as well.

"But he _totally_ started it this time!" Bill whined.

"Shut up, or Pigma's going to sit on you," Peppy smirked evilly.

Pigma scowled at Peppy, his beady eyes glaring with contempt.

"Lighten up, Pigma, it was just a joke," Peppy rebutted offhandedly.

Both Bill and Slippy were silent.

James escorted Fox up to the shining silver Arwing, which detected James' presence and opened its hatch up.

James grabbed a hold of the side of the cockpit and lifted himself into the seat, lengthening the straps on the pilot's harness to accommodate Fox and slipping a headset onto the back of his skull.

"Peppy, you mind giving Fox a boost up here?" James requested.

"I still have a bad feeling about this," Peppy muttered, scooping Fox up and lifting him up to the cockpit level.

James took Fox from Peppy and lifted him the rest of the way into the cockpit, sitting Fox snugly in his lap.

He then fastened the six-point harness around himself and Fox. It was somewhat awkward, but it would still work.

"Alright, then, lets go to work," James muttered, pressing the 'ENGINE START' button as the canopy closed down over them. The gravity diffusers and plasma engines whined to life as the display screen showed the message, 'WELCOME, JAMES MCCLOUD'.

As the seat rumbled and began to shake lightly, Fox felt his heart rate increase with anticipation and glee. He was going to _fly_. In the truest sense of the word, for the first time. Not bound by confining fly-lanes or in the large expanse of a shuttle like the _Pleiades_, but actual flying within a state-of-the-art star fighter.

James pressed a few icons on the display screen, and the Arwing began to rise into the air, almost unnoticeably.

"ROB, do a weather and ATC check for me, and plot out a course that gives us a pretty scenic cover of Corneria City," James said into the microphone on his headset.

"**Is this a pleasure cruise or a training run, sir?**" ROB-64 inquired through the headset, his voice muffled but still audible to Fox.

"A little bit of both," James informed, pushing his sunglasses up on his face, "I'm taking Fox out for a little spin."

"**Route calculated**," ROB answered, "**The course should be shown on your heads-up display. Have a pleasant flight, sir**."

"Thanks, ROB," James nodded, gazing into the green scouter over his eye that extended from his headset.

Fox looked out through the transparisteel canopy to see the vast expanses of Corneria City and its never-ending air traffic. Suddenly, it all seemed too close, too touchable.

"Want to get this party started?" James whispered in Fox's ear.

Fox felt the nervousness and fear creep into him, telling him that this was way too real. This wasn't War Games anymore, and there was no way to reset the game once the ship blew up. He crushed it down with a deep breath.

"Yeah," Fox breathed.

"Hold on," James smiled vocally, his left hand reaching over to the throttle, "I _love _this part."

James cranked the throttle all the way up, and the plasma engines screamed to life, throwing both of them back into the seat as Corneria City began to speed past them in a flash. Fox and James both yelled out loud with boisterous excitement, laughing and screaming the entire way as they left the whole world behind.

The inertial compensators suddenly kicked in and the Arwing gained a stable top speed, twice the speed of sound, and James throttled down slightly to put the Arwing at just below supersonic flight speeds.

Fox looked out the canopy to see Corneria City already thousands of feet below them, the Arwing gliding amongst the clouds and the blueness of the Cornerian sky.

It was all so different from flying in the _Pleiades_ or in his father's sky car; it was like Fox _himself_ was actually flying.

It was enough to take Fox's breath away.

"Dad, it's beautiful," Fox breathed quietly.

He didn't see James smile warmly.

"Here," James said, taking Fox's hands and putting them on the control stick.

"What're you doing?" Fox inquired, panicked.

"Take the controls for a few seconds," James encouraged tenderly.

"WHAT?!" Fox yelped, "I can't fly this thing!"

"I'm not asking you to do a barrel roll," James reassured him, "Just guide it in a straight line for a minute or two. Get a feel for her. She's not going to hurt you."

Breathing hard, unable to take his eyes off the blue, infinite wonder and the ground far below, Fox's arms seized up with fear.

"I'm _here_, Fox," James told him softly, "You're going to be _fine_. I'm going to let go now."

"Don't," Fox shuddered, terrified.

"Look, no hands," James quipped, taking his hands off of the control stick.

In terror, Fox instinctively grabbed the control stick hard.

The Arwing rocked a bit from side to side, and Fox let out a gasp of fright, keeping the stick as straight as he possibly could.

"Please take the controls, Dad!" Fox begged.

"_Fox_," James said jovially but firm, "_Look_. You're _flying_ it. It's all you right now. _You're_ in control. And nothing bad is happening."

Fox slowed his breathing, looked out the canopy at the serene, still cityscape below, and the endless sky above. Somehow it seemed even more beautiful knowing that he was guiding the Arwing; that he was in control.

Fox felt at one with everything around him, free and shapeless, unbound by even the laws of physics.

Fox exhaled in awe, and a blissful smile crept over his face.

"What do you think?" James asked softly.

"I could spend the rest of my life doing this," Fox whispered.

"What?" James inquired.

"I mean, I could spend my whole life up here," Fox corrected.

"I know exactly what you mean. I feel that same feeling every time I get into this bird. And I think you mean both of what you just said," James responded softly.

James then wrapped both of his arms around his son embracing him tightly. A warm feeling rose up in Fox's chest.

James kissed Fox in between the ears, and then put his hands over Fox's, grasping the control stick but still allowing Fox to be the one primarily touching the controls.

"Wanna see what this thing can really do?" James whispered.

"Yeah," Fox breathed.

"Alright, you ready?" James asked.

"Yeah!" Fox nodded.

"Let's go!" James barked, cranking the throttle up and pushing the stick down.

The Arwing lurched in the air as its engines screeched with acceleration, pointing towards the ground. Fox gave off a yell of excitement as the Arwing sped towards the ground.

James jerked the stick to the side, and the Arwing barrel-rolled through the air, tail spinning towards the ground. The Arwing just kept spinning, Corneria City growing ever closer, and once again Fox felt a twinge of fear.

"I gotcha," James responded, jerking the stick to the other side and then to its upright position, ending the spin just as the Arwing sped past the rooftops of Corneria City's tallest skyscrapers.

Fox screamed out loud, and at the last moment, James pulled up on the stick.

The Arwing curved through the air, perhaps barely a few hundred feet from the ground, rocketing upwards and curving around a tall, white skyscraper, shooting past a fly-lane of sky-car traffic before leveling off nearly a thousand feet over top the buildings.

Fox gave off a cry of triumph and enthusiasm as the Arwing soared over the rooftops.

"Yeah!" Fox screamed, overjoyed.

James began to laugh, sitting back in the pilot's seat.

He didn't notice as Fox's hands re-positioned themselves on the control stick, how they swept over the trigger on the stick, pushing the sensitive button down enough to fire the lasers.

With a loud, hissing bark, a pair of blue laser blasts erupted from the cannons on the wings of the Arwing, hitting a repulsorlift air traffic light, which exploded and fell to the ground.

"Shit!" James yelled in panic, yanking Fox's paws off of the control stick and gripping it fully in his own hands.

The air lanes sped into each other, scattering and colliding in a crunch of chaos, more than a few sky cars escaping the air lanes in order to not get hit, only to be frozen by the containment field outside of the air lanes.

Fox was petrified in horror at what he'd done, his green eyes wide with shock as he watched the traffic light plunge, flaming to the ground, and all that he could think of was mommy, all those years ago, and how he watched her fall flaming to the ground, unable to do anything just like right now.

Except it was _his _fault, this time.

James jerked back on the control stick, flying the Arwing upwards and back to the McCloud household quickly and silently.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Fox said weakly, "I'm so sorry."

"It's going to be alright, Fox," James reassured, calm and serious.

Fox still felt ashamed, and felt the tears welling up in his eyes until he started to cry.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," James whispered, "We'll work it all out."

"I'm sorry!" Fox sobbed, tears streaming down his face as the Arwing decelerated, coming in for a landing at the McCloud house, "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything!"

"It doesn't look like anyone was hurt. It was an accident, Fox, it'll be alright," James soothed.

"No it won't! She's gone! She's not coming back!" Fox bawled, "I watched her fall and she's not coming back up, Dad!"

"Fox, what're you talking…" James trailed off, and then was hit with realization.

"Oh, God," James whispered.

"She's gone, Dad! I watched her!" Fox howled, turning around and burying his face into James' chest.

The Arwing descended down onto the landing pad, and James undid his safety harness and wrapped his arms around Fox's body.

"It's not your fault, Fox. It's not your fault." James whispered lowly.

"I watched her fall…" Fox cried, his entire body quaking in James' arms.

"I know," James said, remembering Vixy and trying not to fall apart himself, "It's not your fault."

Later on, it was determined that the accident caused almost a hundred thousand Liat in damages, however no one was hurt.

General Pepper was able to grant Team StarFox immunity from almost all of the lawsuits that were thrown their way, and James ended up having to pay around a thousand Liat in fines. It was, however, light when compared to what it could've been.

It would be years before Fox even thought about flying again.


	6. Sunglasses and Eye Patches

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I've wanted to write this one since this whole thing started. This final Wolf story will hopefully round out Wolf's development and show you how he became the StarWolf leader we know and love. This story takes place about twelve days before "A Hero Died For Me". Enjoy and review.

* * *

-**Sunglasses and Eye Patches-**

He could barely feel the elastic strap slipping over his ear and tightening around the fur of his head, the black patch of cloth covering the empty hole where his left eye used to be. Wolf positioned the eye patch so that it perfectly covered his left eye socket, then opened his right eye and looked into the mirror.

A sixteen year-old wolf with starkly pointed ears and scruffy grey fur stared back at him with a single lavender eye. Wolf stepped away from the bathroom mirror, his toned, scarred physique apparent even under his fur. A patch of white over his chest led down all the way to his waist, where a pair of black boxer shorts interrupted the view. His rough tail swiped through the air as he picked the black and white flight suit he'd been issued up off of the sink.

Wolf flexed his chest slightly, cocking a roguish smile at the way he looked, then unzipped the flight suit and stuck each leg inside, tugging his tail through the hole in the back before slipping his arms through the sleeves and tugging the two ends of the collar snug around his neck. Slipping the sharp claws of his index finger and thumb through the zipper, Wolf pulled upward, hearing the teeth purr together as he zipped himself up. His toenails clicking on the tile of the small bathroom, Wolf plucked his grey officer's boots off of the toilet and shoved a foot into each one.

He turned and pressed the button on the wall to open the door, watching as it slid to the side to allow him access into the dark, dormitory-style room.

The tile floor and concrete walls of the room was no less utilitarian than that of the bathroom. The Venomian Army wasn't known for its hospitality or comfort, and Wolf himself was lucky to have gotten this room rather than being forced into a barracks with scores of regular foot-soldiers.

Reclining on the bottom bunk in a set of blue coveralls and black boots was Leon, now seventeen, stroking a throwing knife with his white-gloved hand. One of Leon's yellow eyes swiveled, locking onto Wolf as the other eye stayed fixed on the knife.

"Admiring yourself in the mirror again, Wolf?" Leon inquired lightly.

"Anythin' _wrong_ with that, Leon?" Wolf retorted, raising his eyebrow coyly.

"Not at _all_, Wolf," Leon said, a little too emphatically for Wolf's comfort, "We voyeurs need more exhibitionists around. Just be sure to leave the doors open."

Wolf gave Leon a look.

Leon rolled his eye.

"It was a _joke_, Wolf," Leon recovered, a bit too quickly, adding coldly, "I don't care _what _you do in front of a mirror."

Wolf smiled just a bit, walking across the room and opening the closet, yanking a thick leather belt off of the top shelf.

"You gettin' ready, Leon?" Wolf inquired as he fastened the belt around his waist.

"I _am_ ready, Wolf," Leon retorted, patting his belt and the attached holster that housed his sidearm, "I just need my jacket, and that'll take like five seconds to put on."

At that moment, Leon lazily flicked his wrist, sending the throwing knife spinning out of his hand and into the wall. The blade stuck into the ferroconcrete walls with a small _click_.

"We're gonna' _lose_ this room if ya' keep puttin' holes in tha' walls, Leon," Wolf growled softly, clipping his low-slung quick-draw holster to his belt.

"They're not going to _notice_," Leon argued, slinking off of the bed and walking across the room, plucking the throwing knife out of the wall.

"You keep tellin' yourself that," Wolf shrugged, "Then watch 'em come an' inspect tha' room."

Wolf strode over to the bunk-beds, reaching under his pillow and feeling the round, worn grip of his modified Cygnet Model 1811 Disruptor pistol, pulling out slowly and playfully spinning the powerful pistol around his trigger finger before shoving it into his holster.

"Show-off," Leon teased quietly.

"You just threw a _knife_ into tha' wall; ya' got no place ta' talk," Wolf rebuffed.

"Touché," Leon admitted, his whip-like tail curling into a spiral.

Wolf turned back to the closet, pulling a long, brown duster coat off of its hanger and slipping his arms through the sleeves. Wolf gave the lapels of the duster a swift yank to pull the collar around the back of his neck before reaching into the duster's left pocket and pulling out a short red scarf. Wolf wrapped the scarf around his neck, slipping the end into the folds of the cloth so that it didn't come loose, feeling the soft fabric ruffle his fur ever so slightly. He then reached into the duster's right pockets, pulling out a pair of black fingerless gloves, pulling one over each clawed paw.

"Ya' think they're gonna' have us test tha' Manta prototypes again, or ya' think it's gonna be another _briefin_'?" Wolf inquired dryly.

"They haven't sent us out on test-flights for a _week_. They owe us _something_," Leon remarked, rolling his yellow eyes.

"If they send us out, I'll race ya' through Steel Canyon," Wolf smirked, winking his lavender eye.

"Like they're going to let us do _that_," Leon scoffed.

"That sorta' thing didn't stop us from takin' those Ultimas for joy-rides back home," Wolf smiled.

"That's different. Besides, we barely knew how to fly _then_," Leon shrugged, leaning against the wall.

"Ya' sayin' you regret it?" Wolf inquired.

"No, the only way we learned _how_ to fly was by hijacking aircraft from wherever we could, I'm just saying it's different _now_," Leon explained.

"How so?" Wolf asked.

"Your dad and the lawmen on Katina couldn't execute us for insubordination," Leon remarked.

Wolf chuckled.

"I guess ya' got yourself a point," Wolf said, looking off into the wall.

There was an echoing knock on the durasteel door of the room, giving them only a moment of warning before the door slid aside.

Wolf and Leon stood at attention, expecting to see their superior officer, Captain Tyber Orwell, at the door.

Instead, however, stood a thin, intimidating-looking Chang Enterprises AK-220 Automaton. Coated a type of metallic black, the droid looked like a walking steel skeleton, with power cables running between the top and bottom halves of its torso, its round head looking like a vaguely primate skull with a frowning, almost insectoid mouth. A pair of thin, yellow photoreceptors glared out at them coldly.

Wolf and Leon stood at ease, regarding the droid with some confusion.

"**First Lieutenant Wolf O'Donnell, Second Lieutenant Leon Powalski; I am IG-N 96. I am an emissary of Emperor Andross**," the droid introduced in a sophisticated, though somewhat scratchy voice.

"What's going on here?" Leon asked before Wolf could.

"**The Great Andross requests an audience with the two of you**," IG-N 96 responded.

"What for?" Wolf probed.

"**Either you are very lucky, or you are very **_**un**_**lucky to be called into the Emperor's chambers. Regardless, it is inadvisable to keep the Great Andross waiting. Please come with me**," IG-N 96 answered.

With that, the droid began to turn on his heel and slowly walk down the hall.

"You heard th' creepy little protocol droid, Leon; let's go," Wolf remarked.

"**Correction: I am a versatile assassin droid, reprogrammed for protocol, service and security duties**," IG-N 96 interjected from outside the room, "**I also possess fantastic hearing. If you please, gentlemen, can we get a move-on some time today?**"

Leon snorted as Wolf's brow furrowed in surprise. Wolf looked over at Leon, his eye wide in bemusement.

"Well I've been _told_, haven't I?" Wolf sniffed.

Leon's eyes darted around the room quickly, soon filling with confusion.

"Where's my jacket?" Leon inquired.

"_Told_ ya' ta' get ready," Wolf sneered, "Whaddaya want, me ta' help ya' find it?"

"Gee, would you, Wolf? I'd love that," Leon returned sarcastically.

"See tha' concern in _my _eye?" Wolf inquired, tugging at his bottom eyelid in a teasing gesture towards Leon.

"Too bad you don't have a _spare_," Leon muttered as Wolf exited the room, entering the hall where the droid waited for them.

"You're pretty ornery for a _droid_," Wolf remarked.

"**And you are rather cocksure for a lowly **_**test pilot**_," IG remarked, "**Not all robots are mindless drones without a touch of personality. Some have enough to out-talk you. Not that I imagine it difficult to do so**."

Wolf was taken aback, and considered how easy it might be to tear out one of the droid's power cables.

Instead, he responded, "I didn't know they programmed droids ta' be smart-alecky bastards."

"**Correction: They do not. I do **_**that **_**for fun**," IG rebutted, "**Likewise, I was not aware that the standards of the Venomian Army had sunk so low as to allow a vulgar young wolf from some backwater world be more than a common foot-soldier**."

A vile, angered grimace appeared on Wolf's face, and he leaned close, whispering to the droid, "I've crippled folks for sayin' less than that. I'd take it easy, if I were you."

"**Response: As long as I remain one of the Emperor's assistant and security droids, I am quite immune**," IG stated.

"Now whose bein' cocksure, ya' sarcastic prick?" Wolf growled, "Robots are pretty expendable. That's why Andross has got ya takin' blaster bolts for 'im. An' I know how ta' take metal pieces 'a shit like you apart piece by piece. So try ta' tone it down, before ya' end up havin' a close encounter with an arc wrench."

"**You are quite a harsh being,**" IG returned, "**I think I like you, Lieutenant O'Donnell**."

Wolf sniffed, and then stepped back with a crooked smirk.

Leon stepped out of the room, his white jacket around his shoulders.

"Sorry about that," Leon said sheepishly.

"**Let us continue then**," IG-N 96 directed, turning around and leading them down the hallway.

They strode down the wide, pale-colored corridor, their feet clicking along the tile floors. The bright light-panels on the ceiling cast a sterile glow on the entire hallway as they passed the closed doors to the multiple dorm rooms along the wing.

IG led them both to the doors of a turbo-lift, clicking the call button with a thin, metallic finger.

With an electric hum, the turbo-lift arrived and opened its doors in less than a moment, and the three stepped inside.

As the doors closed, IG held up his index finger, an electronic key extending from the tip. The droid then stuck the key into a slot at the top of the panel of buttons on the turbo-lift, turning it slightly until there was a small, digital _beep_.

The turbo-lift began to ascend.

"**You will address the Emperor as 'My Lord' or 'Your Highness'. I would recommend kneeling as you are introduced and not rising or speaking until he tells you to. Emperor Andross is known for his generosity and his wrath, and his speed of switching from one to the other. I would suggest you be on your guard**," IG informed them.

Wolf and Leon nodded silently as the turbo-lift continued to rise, then suddenly stopped with a sudden _ding_.

The turbo-lift doors slid open, and Wolf continued to wonder just why Andross wanted to see them all of a sudden.

The throne room was immense, a giant chamber of white marble with a long, red carpet extending from the turbo-lift doors to the platform at the other end. Along the sides of the walls were multitudes of columns, in between which hung several paintings and works of art, in the shadows of which several uniformed guards and armed security droids lurked silently. At the end of the throne room was an impressive, panoramic transparisteel window, giving an expansive view of the barren, volcanic Venomian landscape.

At one end of the window, in the distance, one could make out the massive city of Blight, the capitol of Venom, with its orange maze-like canals of lava that powered the city glowing and evident even from almost a hundred kilometers away. At the other end of the window, one could see the construction site of the massive dome of Andross' underground palace, surrounded by several large columns and effigies of the Emperor.

In front of the window, in the very center, was a pedestal that dominated the end of the throne room, upon which sat a massive, high backed throne of velvet cushions and black metal tendrils that drilled into the white marble floors and clawed at the air above.

Upon the throne sat a dark-skinned, dark-haired chimpanzee, in an all-black military uniform and eyes the color of molten lava. His legs were crossed officiously, his gnarled fingers steepled in a pensive, but somehow threatening gesture.

IG-N 96 led Wolf and Leon out of the turbo-lift and down the red carpet, stopping about ten feet away from the throne.

"**I present His Imperial Majesty Emperor Andross of the Venomian Empire**," IG announced, to which Wolf and Leon kneeled, bowing their heads, "**Introducing First Lieutenant Wolf O'Donnell and Second Lieutenant Leon Powalski.**"

"Rise," Andross growled in a rich, exotic voice.

Wolf rose to his feet, looking Andross in the eyes stoically, staying silent.

Andross smiled.

"The two of you are the ones that identify yourselves as 'Team StarWolf', are you not?" Andross inquired.

"That's right, Your Highness," Wolf rumbled.

"Though you have advertised yourselves as a mercenary group, you are currently employed as test pilots, is that not correct?" Andross examined.

"Yes, My Lord," Leon answered.

"StarWolf…" Andross murmured, "I suppose you style yourselves after the mercenary group Team StarFox, do you not?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Wolf nodded, "StarFox was a great inspiration ta' tha' both a' us."

"It is somewhat disappointing to serve as test pilots, is it not?" Andross demanded with a smirk, "I suppose you wished for more direct, specialized combat work, such as the work that Team StarFox performs?"

Wolf and Leon stayed silent, merely glancing at each other.

"Speak truthfully, Wolf O'Donnell," Andross hissed, "I do not favor sycophants or flattery."

Wolf swallowed and wet his mouth before speaking.

"I'd hoped at first ta' have more specialized, combat duties," Wolf surrendered, "Test pilotin' aint what I'd imagined, but it aint like I'm unappreciative, Your Highness."

Andross' eyebrow rose and he smirked just slightly.

"As you are not… completely untrained in ground combat, I am willing to extend to you a chance to prove yourselves," Andross explained.

Wolf's pointed ears pricked upwards in interest.

"We currently have a pair of interlopers detected in one of our military factories, a few kilometers south of here," Andross instructed, "As part of a covert operation we have been conducting for some time, we have warning of the arrival of these two intruders. The two of you will be part of a team sent to apprehend these intruders. Should you be successful, I will reconsider the assignment and treatment of your StarWolf Team."

Wolf smiled graciously, his eye widening in hope.

"Thank ya', Your Highness, ya' won't regret this," Wolf blurted, bowing slightly.

Andross nodded just a bit.

"Use caution, Wolf O'Donnell," Andross said, "These interlopers are not to be underestimated."

"Who are they, My Lord?" Leon inquired.

"Commander James McCloud and Lieutenant Commander Peppy Hare of Team StarFox," Andross growled.

Wolf's jaw dropped slightly, the air knocked out of his lungs in shock. His eye showed a look of disbelief and a little bit of fear as the fur on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Will apprehending these enemies of the state pose a _dilemma_ for you, Wolf O'Donnell?" Andross inquired with an acid tone.

Wolf somehow found the ability to speak, and responded quickly, his voice cracking just a bit, "No, Your Highness. I won't disappoint you."

"Let us hope you do not," Andross rumbled, his eyes scrutinizing Wolf, "You are dismissed. IG-N 96 will accompany you to the hangar where the transport gunship is waiting."

Wolf nervously bowed his head along with Leon, and then the two turned around and headed back for the turbo-lift with IG-N 96.

The doors slid open and Wolf rushed in before the other two, trying to calm the beating of his heart for fear that Andross might somehow be able to hear.

Leon and IG walked into the turbo-lift car, the doors sliding shut as IG pressed a button for the lower levels of the base.

"Wolf, are you alright?" Leon inquired, "You're panting."

Wolf noticed that he was indeed breathing hard, his tongue sliding back and forth over his bottom teeth.

Leon's gloved hand rested on Wolf's left shoulder, and Wolf instantly shot Leon a look of cold intensity, his featureless eye patch even managing to convey an air of ferocity.

"Sorry," Leon frowned, removing his hand.

"Whaddaya _think_ I feel like, Leon?" Wolf muttered.

"What?" Leon inquired, "Are you trying to say that you're _unsure _about doing what we have to do, just because you idolized Team StarFox as a _cub_?"

"LEON," Wolf snarled, "I _aint_ sayin' _that_. I've _always_ measured myself by what James McCloud would do. I tried ta' follow his path best I could and I've got no regrets. And now I've gotta face 'im."

"This is our big chance, Wolf," Leon chided, "Don't get cold feet."

"I've _always_ wanted to fight _with_ 'im, Leon," Wolf whispered, "And, now I gotta fight _against_ 'im. And I'm lookin' forward to it…but I dunno if I'm _ready_."

Leon breathed outwards and stretched out his hand, about to put it on Wolf's shoulder again, only to receive another look from Wolf. Leon's hand fell back to his side.

"Wolf, you're one of the best fighters I've ever _seen_," Leon remarked, "If anyone can go toe-to-toe with James McCloud, it's you."

"**I'm as sentimental as the next droid, but really, it's somewhat unprofessional to be carrying on like that before you go off into battle**," IG-N 96 commented.

"Shut up, IG," Wolf snapped, and the droid did.

The turbo-lift reached the level and _dinged_, the doors sliding open to reveal a large hangar, mostly empty aside from a large _Hobbes_-class gunship idling on the ferroconcrete floor in the middle of the hangar.

The gunship was large and boxy, with a pair of wings that slanted downwards from the top of the fuselage, with weapons bristling from almost every exposed surface. A large, sliding door opened in the gunship to reveal an open deck plate for soldiers to stand or sit as they were ferried to the combat zone.

Standing around the gunship was an assortment of Venomian troops in maroon uniforms and black helmets. Also present were a pair of large Decimator battle droids, hulking grey masses larger than any living being in the room, with intimidating, smooth faces that vaguely looked like a bulldog's. The Decimators had one strong, empty left hand that could punch through a plate of durasteel nearly a meter thick; while in their right hand was a double-barreled plasma cannon, in addition to hardened armor that made them nearly invulnerable to small arms fire.

At the front of the troops stood a Venomian lizard soldier with the markings of a lieutenant. He took notice of the three of them as they approached, regarding them with a raised eyelid.

"What's going on here?" the lieutenant asked.

"**This is First Lieutenant Wolf O'Donnell and Second Lieutenant Leon Powalski**," IG informed, "**They will be joining your intercept team, however they will be acting independently of your command.**"

"Under whose orders?" the lizard demanded.

"**Emperor Andross'**," IG said off-handedly.

The lizard started, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth briefly.

"As the Emperor commands," the lieutenant submitted, "Are the lieutenants ready to go?"

"Yeah," Wolf nodded.

"Then get onboard," the lizard instructed, "We're moving out."

IG-N 96 returned to the turbo-lift without a word, and Wolf and Leon walked under the wings of the gunship and into the holding deck, grabbing a hold of one of the many straps hanging down from the ceiling.

"Things change in the blink of an eye, don't they Wolf?" Leon remarked.

Wolf didn't answer, just stared at the steel walls of the fuselage.

In a matter of moments, the rest of the troop compliment was loaded into the holding deck, including the two Decimator droids, and the sliding door closed as the gunship's plasma engines fired up. Through the several slots in the sliding door, Wolf could see the ground of the hangar begin to rise into the air as the floor began to shake and rumble.

Gravity threatened to pull Wolf off-balance, but he held tightly onto the strap.

With a jerk of speed, the gunship accelerated forward out of the hangar, and Wolf could see the yellow-brown light of the Venomian sun peeking in through the slots as the rocky, barren landscape sped by below.

Wolf breathed in, then out, closing his eye and frowning.

James McCloud wasn't a drunkard, callous hick like Hank O'Donnell. McCloud was a _hero_.

All those times when he was a cub on Katina, wishing that he could just fly away from everything that his life encompassed, Wolf had thought of Team StarFox. Even when he and Leon formed StarWolf and tried to become mercenary privateers for Corneria, only to get rejected on the grounds of inexperience and criminal background, Wolf still held hopes of living the life just like StarFox. And now, Wolf had a chance for that life, if Andross was telling the truth.

All that Wolf had to do was capture his hero.

_Stop it_, Wolf thought to himself angrily, _Just do your job. Take him down. _

Wolf breathed in through his cold, black nose, trying to crush the hesitance in his chest.

Wolf had always dreamt of being the best.

And the only way to be the best was by challenging the best and winning.

This was Wolf's chance to take on probably the greatest fighter and pilot in the Lylat System. If he could, then he would have already accomplished his dream, regardless of whether or not Andross gave him what he wanted.

It was just that Wolf never expected to get the chance so _soon_.

Feeling the hesitation start to come back, Wolf growled slightly and reached into his holster, feeling the grip of his disruptor.

This would be Wolf's ultimate fight. He couldn't afford to hesitate.

James McCloud certainly wouldn't.

The idea put Wolf at ease, and he smiled a bit, feeling the hesitation replaced by anticipation.

The rush of the fight and the thrill of victory: that was all that Wolf ever wanted.

"We're coming up on the factory," the pilots announced to the holding deck via the intercom.

"All right," the lieutenant said, "We've detected the intruders in two different sections of the factory. The teams will split in half, each half taking one of the two sections. Understood?"

The soldiers saluted in the affirmative.

Wolf looked at Leon.

"I'll take the first stop," Wolf instructed, "You get off at the second."

"What if McCloud's not in your section of the factory?" Leon called out.

"Let's hope for _his_ sake he's not," Wolf grinned.

"There's the Wolf I know!" Leon smiled.

Wolf had nothing to say in response.

The gunship began to descend, the side door to the deck plate sliding open to reveal a short landing pad connected to the upper levels of a large weapons foundry, a long, fat building of rust-colored metal that almost blended in with the rocky surroundings.

"Point insertion!" the pilot called.

"GO!" the lieutenant ordered.

With that, about six Venomian troops took turns leaping out of the gunship, falling through space for about ten feet before making a knee-buckling landing on the pad.

"See ya'," Wolf growled to Leon, not looking back at his friend before dashing forward and leaping off the edge.

Wolf plunged through the air, almost in slow motion, his duster swirling behind him like a pair of dirty wings. He took in everything; the ugly factory looming ahead, the toxic wasteland stretching back as far as the eye could see, the gathered troops below and the fiery, hellish sky above, without even turning his head.

Wolf's booted feet slammed into the durasteel landing pad, absorbing the fall with his knees in a squatting motion for a moment, standing up to full height. The gunship continued to hover above, its repulsorlift engines humming loudly and kicking up a downdraft. Wolf scratched the stripe of white fur between his sharp ears, feeling the scruffy fur become even more disheveled, in addition to the strap of his eye patch, clinging tightly to his scalp.

He walked forward, towards the catwalk that led from the landing pad into the factory, drawing his disruptor pistol.

"Gang way!!!" one of the soldiers yelled, and Wolf looked back with his remaining eye just in time to see one of the hulking Decimators leap out of the gunship and slam into the landing pad with a deafening crash.

The ground shook with the impact of the massive battle droid, and the gunship above swayed with the sudden loss of weight. The Decimator extended to full height, its servomotors revving slightly under its thick, grey armor.

"**Priority one: Locate and neutralize hostile subject**," the Decimator growled in a deep, synthetic voice, "**Priority two: Protect infantry escort. Priority three: Minimize collateral damage.**"

"You're obviously not tryin' ta' get tha' _drop_ on 'im," Wolf remarked dryly to an equine soldier, who readied his blaster rifle and moved forward.

"Look, you've got your orders and we've got _ours_. Just try to stay out of our way," the horse responded.

"Who'd ya' think you're dealin' with? Some pushover?" Wolf inquired incredulously as the gunship sailed overhead and out of view.

"We've got him _outnumbered_," the horse argued, "We've got a fucking _Decimator_. Against _one_ guy."

Wolf smiled in a manner that suggested both amusement and derision.

"Y'know what?" Wolf said, "If you're so sure, how 'bout _you_ guys walk up front?"

The horse gave him a look and muttered something under his breath, then gestured to the soldiers and to the Decimator and walked past Wolf.

The soldiers all filed past him, each giving him somewhat condescending looks under their helmets. Wolf tried not to smile, and hoped that James McCloud _was_ actually as good as he expected.

If he was, these guys were sure in for a treat.

The Decimator stomped past Wolf, not looking at him with its dark photoreceptors.

Up ahead, the soldiers opened the door to the factory and filed in, their rifles cocked.

The Decimator hunched down to fit through the doorway in a comical fashion, standing to full height once inside.

Wolf finally walked up the path himself, keeping his distance from the soldiers and the battle droid, hearing the troops talking audibly amongst themselves and frowning in disappointment.

These were trained, Venomian soldiers? _These_ idiots? Wolf almost felt ashamed to be a part of the same army.

Wolf walked through the door into a large factory room, with dozens of working, automated factory machinery that cast large shadows on the floor as they churned and worked their gears and stamps.

A series of catwalks lined the ceiling, while in the distance Wolf could see a large warehousing section, with tall, wide storage crates piled to full capacity on the shelves.

"Decimator, do an EM scan on the surrounding area," the horse soldier called.

Wolf held his breath, not bothering to mention that an electromagnetic scan would be just about useless with all of the moving machinery and electrical equipment. McCloud wasn't in this room, or he was hiding, in which case there wasn't really any scan that would find him before it was too late.

"**Scan inconclusive**," the Decimator crackled.

_Hate ta' say I told ya' so…_Wolf thought to himself.

"He's not in here," the horse concluded up ahead, "Fan out and begin a search of the surrounding rooms."

Wolf sighed, hanging back and letting his guard down as he mentally critiqued the inept soldiers.

He almost didn't notice the thick black disk the size of his paw that spun from out of the shadows and clattered to the metal floor right in front of the troops. The disk caught everyone's confused attention especially that of the soldiers, who stared down at the puck dumbfounded. Then a red light in the puck blinked on and off in rapid succession, and Wolf let out a gasp before diving behind a large hydraulic press.

The explosion shook the floor like an earthquake, the blast rendering Wolf damn near deaf. Wolf dared to look up and saw bodies and body parts of just about every soldier flying through the air, the lucky ones still in one piece but tossed like dolls by the explosion.

Wolf's ears rung and his vision began to get shot because of the dust kicked up by the blast, but he could still just barely hear the Decimator snarl, "**Target acquired.**"

The sound of a double-barreled plasma cannon firing could be heard, along with the sounds of swift footsteps clanking on the metal floors. Wolf gripped the handle of his disruptor hard, dragging himself to his feet and peeking around the hydraulic press.

The Decimator stood, firing its plasma cannon into the shadows, surrounded by the lifeless remains of the soldiers.

Wolf was able to spot one of the soldiers, moving feebly on the ground, but the rest were in enough pieces that Wolf _hoped_ they were dead, for their sake. Wolf fixed his gaze on the Decimator, trying to follow its line of fire in hopes of catching a glimpse at the attacker.

The Decimator's fire followed a long arc around a large furnace with a conveyor belt leading into and out of it, spraying bright blue globs of plasma in a rapid-fire motion. As the rain of plasma bolts collided into the furnace, into the wall, and into the other machinery around the room, Wolf saw something dart from one shadow to another.

Suddenly, the Decimator stopped firing, scanning the area with its photoreceptors.

There was a moment of quiet, like the calm before the storm, and then there was a clatter far to the left.

The Decimator raised its plasma cannon and unloaded a salvo into the area in the left side of the room, pelting the walls and equipment with blue plasma bolts.

Without warning, a figure rushed out of the shadows right in front of the Decimator and fired a pair of shots from a blaster pistol into the Decimator's face.

The Decimator was stunned for a moment before bringing the plasma cannon to bear on a tall, broad-shouldered fox with golden fur and sunglasses.

Wolf's jaw fell open slightly, a little star struck at the sight of James McCloud.

McCloud dodged forward, firing another shot into the Decimator's chest to no avail. The Decimator stepped back and raised its left fist, slamming it down into the floor.

McCloud rolled to the side just as the Decimator's fist pounded into the durasteel surface, leaving a large crater the size of a manhole cover. With an angered _whirr_ of its servomotors, the Decimator stepped back and raised its plasma cannon, firing a shot into the floor as James McCloud leapt through the air, landing on the Decimator's forearm before leaping upwards once more.

Wolf watched McCloud fly through space, entranced. The fox was a dancer, leaping about the battle scene with such grace and ease that he might as well have had his eyes closed.

As McCloud sailed over the Decimator's head, he threw another black disk, this one sticking to the Decimator's neck.

McCloud landed on the ground behind the Decimator, dodging to the side as the charge exploded in a flash of fire and noise, blowing the Decimator's head clean off.

A cacophony of sputtering sparks erupted from the stump of the battle droid's neck for a moment before the Decimator's body fell to the ground in a crash of metal against metal.

Wolf grinned in excitement.

He wasn't afraid anymore. The thrill of the fight to come had reached his heart and filled him with a level of frenzied ecstasy he'd only known when engaged in physical combat.

Wolf stood up and quietly came out from behind the hydraulic press, leveling his disruptor at McCloud's back.

"Freeze," Wolf growled, preparing and hoping that McCloud would do exactly the opposite.

The StarFox leader did not disappoint, whipping around in a blur and firing off an orange laser beam from his blaster pistol that barely missed Wolf.

Wolf pulled the trigger of his disruptor, watching as the rotating gas chamber spun and a bright yellow particle beam extended from the barrel to the conveyor belt next to McCloud.

The disruptor beam energized the molecules of the conveyor belt, which glowed and disintegrated in a bright flash of light, an explosion that knocked McCloud off his feet. The conveyor belt was little more than a pile of smoking ash, and McCloud had made the most of being thrown backwards, using his momentum to roll himself into a crouching position, then leaping to his feet and rushing to the side, firing off several shots with his blaster pistol.

Wolf sprinted to the side, dodging the orange laser beams by ducking behind the room's support beams or several pieces of machinery, not returning fire.

His Cygnet disruptor pistol had more than enough power to completely disintegrate a humanoid in a single shot. The only trade off was the low number of shots, which meant that he would have to time himself right.

Wolf continued to run, his whiskers twitching slightly as his mouth hung open in excitement.

He stopped just short of exposing himself from behind a support beam, watching an orange laser bolt tear into the beam a split second earlier. Wolf's eye darted from side to side, looking for something to possibly use as a distraction.

Just as his gaze landed upon a red fire extinguisher resting on a rack on the wall, he heard a calm, mature voice call, "So, what's _your_ story?"

Wolf's ears perked, and he quietly began to inch his way towards the fire extinguisher, keeping his disruptor pointed in the direction of the voice. Wolf could see through the ruse in a half-second: McCloud was trying to strike up conversation in an attempt to intimidate and confuse him, and pinpoint his location.

Instead, Wolf was amused, and couldn't resist the urge to respond.

"I'm just a simple dog 'a war, tryin' ta' make my way in tha' galaxy," Wolf answered, "I gotta admit, I've got some goose bumps. I'm a bit of a fan, McCloud."

"Then what're you doing working for _Andross_?" James inquired, calm and cool as before, "And please don't tell me it's because you think he's standing up for your _race_ or any of the other propaganda bullshit he spouts."

Not taking his eye off of the space beyond the support beam, Wolf reached over to the fire extinguisher rack with his left arm, gripping the fire extinguisher with a clawed paw while keeping his disruptor leveled in the direction of the voice.

"I told ya', I'm a dog 'a _war_," Wolf shrugged, "Tried goin' it _your_ way, workin' for Corneria an' all. They weren't interested. Andross was. Just tha' way it worked out."

"Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven, huh?" James inquired in an almost sardonic tone.

Wolf smiled as he lifted the extinguisher off the rack.

"Somethin' like that," Wolf replied, cocking a sly grin.

In a flashing moment, Wolf heaved the fire extinguisher around the support beam, watching as it bounded through the air and crashed through the floor.

To Wolf's surprise, there was no laser bolt fired from a surprised fox into the extinguisher. The guy was cool as a cucumber.

Acting quickly, Wolf dialed down the power settings on his disruptor and fired his own shot, watching as the yellow particle beam flashed from the barrel and into the metal of the extinguisher tank, rupturing it and prompting it to explode in a loud _pop_ and a cloud of white, fire retardant gas.

Wolf burst out from behind the support beam, spying the dull silhouette of a vague humanoid, cranking up the power settings on his disruptor and firing off a shot nearest to the ground, in order to compensate for the lack of vision. The disruptor beam seared through the white cloud, blasting a massive chunk out of the ground and knocking McCloud backwards once more.

Wolf charged forward, leaping through the cloud and coming upon a stunned, kneeling James McCloud, who raised his blaster pistol almost instantly. Wolf's leg shot outwards, kicking into McCloud's hand and throwing the blaster out of his paw. The blaster pistol flew through the air and clattered off somewhere in the distance, just as Wolf shoved his disruptor back into its holster. McCloud flew into action, grabbing Wolf's still-extended leg with both arms and coming to his feet, throwing Wolf across the room with barely any effort.

Wolf let out a yelp of surprise, flying through the air with his duster flapping behind him before making a very rough landing on the durasteel floor.

His sides hurt like hell, more from shock than anything else, and he could hear the tapping footsteps as McCloud sprinted towards Wolf's supine form. The lupine leapt to his feet just as McCloud approached and swung his leg in a broad turning kick originally aimed for the left side of Wolf's face.

Wolf struck McCloud's ankle with the heel of his right palm, somewhat insulted that McCloud would go for such an obvious (though quite literal) blind spot on Wolf's body.

Less than a moment later Wolf lunged forward, driving his right elbow into McCloud's breastplate, swinging the claws of his left hand into McCloud's stomach.

James' right hand caught Wolf's left wrist and drove his left hand into the bottom of Wolf's jaw, forcing him to bite down into his tongue and swinging him into a shelf of equipment roughly. The rush of blood in Wolf's mouth only excited him more, and he struck out with a knifehand strike to James' neck.

McCloud blocked the strike by lifting his right arm, which was exactly what Wolf had wanted. Wolf lashed out with his left arm, slashing under McCloud's right arm and digging his claws into McCloud's shoulder blade, tearing downward to the magnificent ripping of fabric and flesh.

McCloud let out a yell of pain as Wolf's claws came away with a strip of fabric torn from McCloud's white jacket and coated with blood.

Wolf didn't have much time to soak in the small victory, as McCloud grabbed Wolf's red scarf and jerked forward, prompting a choking squawk of panic from Wolf before McCloud's fist plowed into Wolf's left cheek.

His neck whiplashed as he stumbled backwards, a stinging, painful bruise yet to form on his face, only to look up just in time to see McCloud's foot slam into Wolf's side.

The sensation of flying through the air hit Wolf before the tremendous pain in his side did, and in a split second he was rolling across the durasteel floor once again.

Wolf pulled himself to his feet weakly, looking up. Almost in slow motion, he saw James flying through the air, the dark, empty sunglasses bearing down on Wolf. Wolf was stunned and almost hypnotized, until he saw McCloud twist through the air and kick him in the chest with both booted feet.

Wolf sailed backwards into the wall, coughing as the wind was knocked out of him, feeling a spray of blood eject from his mouth. A golden and white blur was all that Wolf could see before McCloud was _right in front of him_, jabbing his paws into Wolf's chest faster than he could feel.

Suddenly Wolf's whole chest felt numb from the immense pain, and he was barely able to move or breathe, but McCloud still continued to strike him. Wolf lashed out with his left arm, only to have it swatted away and receive a pair of sharp, debilitating strikes to his left pectoral that left him unable to feel or move his arm, which fell limply to his side.

Wolf didn't have enough time to be shocked, as McCloud leapt back about half a meter and twisted through the air, catching Wolf under his right arm with his foot and sending him flying to the side once again. He tumbled across the floor and landed somewhat on his feet against a storage tank of some sort.

Wolf sucked in a much-needed breath.

If he didn't turn the tide of this fight, he wasn't merely going to lose.

He was going to _die_.

Wolf looked up to see McCloud dashing towards him once more, moving almost too fast to see clearly. Taking in one more breath, not sure when he'd get the chance to take in another, Wolf leapt forward to meet McCloud before he could deliver another organ-scrambling kick. Just as the feeling began to return to his chest and arm, Wolf met McCloud with a powerful swipe to his face. He felt a seizing, crushing blow to his wrist from McCloud that repelled the strike and stunned Wolf long enough for McCloud to twirl around and drive his foot full-force into Wolf's stomach.

The burning sensation of rising bile in the back of his throat came to Wolf as he once again slammed into the storage tank.

In a clumsy attempt to buy himself a vital moment, Wolf swung out with his foot, a kick which McCloud easily dodged. Wolf dove forward and shoved outward with both palms into McCloud's chest, stunning him in a move that he obviously hadn't expected. Wolf took the chance he'd been given and grabbed McCloud by the open breasts of his jacket, throwing him further away. James stumbled across the room in disorientation as Wolf yanked his disruptor out of its holster.

He pulled the trigger with a devious grin, watching as McCloud leapt into the air, dodging the yellow disruptor beam that would've vaporized him. The disruptor beam contacted the ferroconcrete walls of the room, blasting a man-sized chunk out of the wall. Wolf took aim once more at the point in the floor where McCloud was supposed to land and firing, the yellow particle beam blasting a hole in the floor about a microsecond too early.

The small explosion knocked James backwards and further upwards, landing roughly and darting between a pair of large storage shelves before Wolf could squeeze off another shot.

Wolf tore after McCloud in pursuit, leaping around the corner of the aisle of shelves and thrusting his disruptor forward, only to find the aisle empty.

Wolf's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment until he looked up just in time to see McCloud, blaster now recovered, taking aim at him. Wolf leapt backwards just as a series of orange laser blasts tore into the floor spaces that Wolf had only just previously occupied.

McCloud leapt off of the shelf and flew through the air out of the aisle, somersaulting through the air and landing right behind Wolf.

Wolf whipped around and thrust his disruptor into McCloud's face, only to find himself staring down the barrel of the StarFox leader's own blaster.

They stood there, completely unmoving, waiting for the other to have the nerve to pull the trigger.

"You're not bad, kid," James breathed, "Haven't had a workout like that in years."

The aches, pains and breathlessness made it only slightly easier not to give off a goofy fan boy smile of appreciation.

"You're pretty good, yourself," Wolf croaked.

James looked like he was about to smile, but instead a frown formed on his furry muzzle.

"Jeez…" McCloud whispered, the eyes behind the dark lenses falling upon Wolf's eye patch, "I've got a kid, not much younger than you. He's still in the _Academy_, for God's sake. Maybe you should think about retiring."

Wolf's remaining eye only narrowed.

"Maybe you should do the same," Wolf sneered, "_Old man_."

Behind the sunglasses, James McCloud glared.

"We going to just stand here, or are we going to finish this?" James inquired.

"On three, put down our guns an' take eleven steps back," Wolf instructed, "After that, it's anythin' goes."

"_Eleven_?" James demanded, "Why not twelve?"

"Why not _ten_? Who gives a shit?" Wolf demanded, almost laughing.

James smiled, "That right there. I could've shot you in that moment. Your focus was off."

Wolf's eyes hardened once more.

"I told ya', this is a complicated fight for me," Wolf stated quietly, "As I said, I'm a bit of an admirer."

James shook his head.

"Don't let that come into the equation," James said, "If you can't put that sort of stuff aside, you're not cut out for this job, regardless of whose side you're on. Don't hesitate. When the time comes, just act."

Wolf gave the fox a solemn look, the words going straight to his heart.

There was a part of him that wanted to tell McCloud what an honor it would be to die fighting him, but he thought it would be a disservice to the advice that McCloud had just given him.

Instead, he just nodded.

"Ready?" James whispered.

"Yeah," Wolf responded.

In almost perfect synchronization, they lowered their guns into their holsters.

Wolf cocked a crooked smile. They both took a single step back.

"One," James said.

The two of them strode backwards once more.

"Two," Wolf growled.

"Three."

"Four."

"Five."

"Six."

"Seven."

"Eight," Wolf murmured.

As James opened his mouth to say "Nine," there was a tremendous crash from the other end of the room.

The two canines looked to see the ferroconcrete wall collapsing as a Decimator battle droid crashed through it. The droid shook the debris off of itself and took a few steps forward, and a group of five Venomian soldiers armed with blaster rifles rushed into the room, bringing their blasters to bear on James McCloud. As a sixth soldier came through the hole in the wall, escorting a bruised and ruffled rabbit in a white coat and a red and black flight suit in restraints, Leon Powalski strode through the hole as well, a blaster pistol in one hand and a throwing knife in the other.

"Wolf!" Leon cried happily.

Wolf's jaw dropped in horror as the soldiers and the Decimator approached, their weapons trained on the StarFox leader who stood, unmoving, his features unchanging.

"Put your hands above your head!" one of the soldiers called.

"No!" Wolf barked.

Leon and the soldiers looked at Wolf as if he was crazy.

"Get outta here, we're not finished!" Wolf demanded, "We're just gettin' started!"

"We're supposed to _capture_ him, moron," one of the soldiers retorted.

Wolf bared his teeth furiously.

"I've still gotta _fight _'im," Wolf snarled.

James looked at Wolf stoically, and then put his hands in the air in surrender. Wolf's heart sank, anger and sadness building up in his gut.

"No, we're not through yet!" Wolf protested to both James and the soldiers, however none of them listened.

"Wolf," Leon said quietly, "Settle down."

"Shut up!" Wolf snapped, "I'm supposed ta' fight 'im! Lemme _fight_ 'im!!!"

A guard approached James with a pair of restraints, snapping one over his wrist and putting both hands behind his back before snapping the other over the other wrist.

"Let 'im fuckin' go!!!" Wolf roared, moving forward only to get stopped by Leon and another soldier as they began to lead James away.

"Is this guy fucking crazy?" the soldier asked of Leon as they tried to hold him back.

Tears of fury began to well up in Wolf's eye.

"YOU CHICKENSHIT BASTARDS!!!!" Wolf bellowed, struggling in vain to get free, "Lemme' go! I'm supposed ta' fuckin' fight 'im!"

They led James McCloud and Peppy Hare out of sight, and Wolf shoved both Leon and the soldier away, stumbling backwards before punching his fist into the wall and letting out a grieving howl that chilled every one of the soldiers to the bone.

* * *

James McCloud died ten days later, tortured to death by Emperor Andross. It was a memory that would be burned into Wolf's mind for years to come, forced to watch the greatest warrior he'd ever met degraded and cut down until there was nothing left, dying a pitiful martyr rather than a veteran fighter.

It had all worked out in his favor, too.

Andross had kept his promise, and was planning to re-assign StarWolf as a special operations elite flying unit. The ranks of StarWolf had been increased by two, with Andross adding Pigma Dengar of StarFox and his nephew, Andrew Oikonny. Honestly, though, in light of what happened with James, the very sight of Pigma left a bad taste in Wolf's mouth, and it looked like both had been put into StarWolf by Andross more as a way to get rid of them than an attempt to bolster their ranks. VenCom, the Venomian Military's most advanced design firm, was even engineering StarWolf a specialized star fighter all their own, with many designs taken from the Team StarFox Arwings that had been donated by Pigma Dengar and confiscated from Peppy Hare and James McCloud.

Wolf and Leon had been given much nicer officer's quarters, and nearly every soldier that knew about Wolf now regarded him with equal parts respect and fear.

And yet, as Wolf sat inside the empty, dirty cell that had once housed James McCloud, he felt empty.

It felt like everything Wolf had gotten was worthless.

He hadn't _earned _it.

He wasn't a better fighter than James McCloud.

And now, thanks to Andross, he would never truly know for sure if he was the best by skill or by default.

Wolf had gotten everything he'd ever wanted; at the cost of the thing he wanted the most: A worthy opponent.

An enemy.

Someone he could measure up to and look forward to defeating, so that he would never feel like he'd gone past the peak of his skill.

It just felt like now, the only direction for Wolf to go was down. And the war hadn't even started yet. It was _years _away. The cold, seizing hardness of the cell made Wolf open his eye, and he looked around for something, anything, that might give his mind some level of peace.

As he breathed in, then out in tired disappointment, his eye caught the briefest glimpse of something catching the dim light of the glow panel in the ceiling. In the corner, hidden by the shadows, something was reflecting the light in just the faintest way.

Wolf got to his feet and moved over to the corner, reaching down and feeling cold, polycarbonate lenses touch his fingertips.

With curiosity, Wolf pulled up the object, discovering a pair of dark sunglasses in his palm. A barely-visible sad smile crept across Wolf's muzzle. Curiously, it appeared that a shard of the lens had been broken off.

As Wolf turned around to face the rest of the cell, he saw something stuffed into a crack in the wall.

Inquisitively, Wolf approached the crack and tugged out two wads of toilet paper. Feeling something hard in the bottom wad, Wolf opened it up to find a Cornerian Army Aviator's badge, along with a shard of dark polycarbonate lens wrapped in white fabric.

Raising an eyebrow, Wolf unfolded the other wad and discovered a full-fledged note.

Wolf's eye carefully scrolled down the length of the writing, inspecting every letter. Once Wolf was finished reading the letter, he read it again, even more carefully. Folding up the letter, Wolf's mind began to turn.

He began to think about a young, orphaned fox on Corneria that he'd never met.

And it was then that, for just a moment, Wolf didn't feel so empty anymore. An idea began to form in his mind, one of equal parts hope and curiosity.

Maybe, just maybe, there _was _something to look forward to.

Perhaps Wolf hadn't peaked just _yet_.

The sadness disappeared from Wolf's smile.

Quietly, he re-wrapped the badge and the makeshift knife, placing the folded letter on top of it, then very silently slipped it back into the crack in the wall.

Wolf turned around and began to leave, promptly stopping at the door, having forgotten something.

With a measure of reverence, Wolf picked up the broken sunglasses of James McCloud and put them in the pocket of his duster.

He then opened the door to the cell and began to walk past the ape guards in the maroon uniforms that stood at attention and saluted him. Wolf ignored their gesture of respect, his mind a million light years away.

Wolf knew that the chances of everything working out like he ventured to hope were slim to none. Peppy Hare would need a miracle to escape from here, return to Corneria and train Wolf a new enemy.

He hoped that Peppy was half the fighter they made him out to be.

He prayed that Fox McCloud became twice the challenge that James had been.


	7. School Daze

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I admit it. I am SCUM. I've kept all of you waiting for this chapter for far too long, mainly in the hopes that more people would review. Oh, well. Here's the last story in "Cubs", which, along with the epilogue, will set up Fox's character past for the times ahead. Keep your eyes open for a few other characters and concepts that might pop up, as well.

* * *

-**School Daze-**

Fox kept his focus on his own rhythmic, controlled breathing, sucking air into his lungs in a measured fashion as his feet pounded into the painted blue concrete of the track. He ignored the soreness of the muscles in his legs and the tightness in his chest as he ran, his thighs begging him to stop and his lungs begging for more. He ignored the others in his squad running in stride with him, not letting the question of whether he was running too fast or too slow enter his mind. All fifteen of them were dressed in the same cerulean tracksuits and identical combat boots, running side by side in three lines of five each, their footsteps hitting the concrete with a unified _clop-clop-clop_ as they jogged together in a single entity. The uniformity of the exercise made it easier for Fox to compartmentalize the discomfort that had built up over the past four and a half kilometers that he'd ran; the fact that his squad depended on him to keep up the pace or else do it all over again allowing him to isolate and catalog the pain, lock it away and ignore it. He tuned out the pain, the people around him and the world around him.

It was just _him_ and the _road_.

"Hey, Fox," Bill's raspy voice huffed next to him.

Fox was silent, his green eyes fixated downwards at the patch of track he would jog over five seconds into the future. He breathed in a slightly deeper breath than before, his concentration somewhat irked by Bill's attempt to get his attention.

"Fox!" Bill snapped, sucking in a breath, "You deaf?"

Fox closed his eyes briefly, maintaining focus on the task at hand, centering his mind on only the impact of his boots against the concrete and of his own deep breathing that made a rumbling, whooshing sound in his ears. He might fall behind or run out of breath, and if Sergeant Brass caught the two of them talking during the run, they'd be in for all sorts of hell.

"I'm talking, to _you_, dickhead!" Bill hissed angrily, pausing between breaths.

Fox continued being nonresponsive. Whatever it was, it could wait until—

Blunt and crushing pain shot up his back as Bill grabbed Fox's tail and jerked roughly, Fox letting out a yap of shock and hurt.

He stumbled forward, sucking in a massive amount of air and losing all semblance of pace with the others, only to receive a grunt of "Move!" and a shove forward from the grey falcon behind him. Fox sprinted ahead to get back into place, his tail sore and his face hot with embarrassment as he clenched his teeth and tried to regulate his breathing once again.

"Jackass!" Fox snarled at Bill, who cocked a playful grin and breathed through his mouth.

"You know better than to neglect Bill Grey," Bill panted, keeping up the pace, "I _refuse_ to be ignored."

"You've got a crotch punch headed your way for that," Fox croaked, his tail still aching as he tried to keep running the last half kilometer.

"Whatever," Bill replied with the vaguest shake of his head, "Anyway, did you do your homework last night?"

"Kinda late to be asking about it _now_, don't you think?" Fox panted.

"That's why you're my friend," Bill explained, "When girls keep us out too late to do work, we bail each other out."

"You mean when your _bimbo_ keeps you out too late." Fox sneered between breaths.

"I know you're jealous that _she _gets all my attention, Fox, but you just got to accept, I'm not that into you," Bill teased, "Besides, we can't all be dating some carefree, horny rich girl that loves to spend Daddy Phoenix's money. So why is it that _Margaret_ is a bimbo?"

"She's an annoying air-head, and the only thing you do is bone each other until the prefects notice that you've snuck out," Fox smiled.

"Are we talking about Fara or Margaret here?" Bill quipped.

Before Fox could respond, a harsh voice called, "Kick it in, cadets! Last hundred meters!"

Bill and Fox began to suck in deep gulps of air along with the rest of the squad, holding in all of the oxygen they could and sprinting down the last section of track in a final burst of speed.

They leaned forward and tore down the concrete, ignoring the lightheadedness and the dull throbbing of their leg muscles as they pumped their arms and struggled to stay in formation, the soles of their boots pounding against the surface of the track.

Fox and Bill raced under the glow panels in the ceiling, looking straight ahead as the finish line came into view.

The burning in Fox's chest and stomach was intense, sweat beginning to collect under his fur and his jaw falling open instinctively to pant.

The finish line came progressively closer and closer, the tightness of his body getting ever worse as the end came in sight.

"Ye better get across that finish line before I say times up or I'm gonna shove my foot straight up each and every one of yer asses!" the voice roared.

Fox, Bill, and the rest of the squad picked up the pace, stomping their feet into the concrete and rushing across the finish line as a group, the last one just barely crossing before the voice cried, "Time's up, faggots!".

The squad trotted to a stop, and began stretching against the wall, lined up single file in order to get out of the way of anyone else using the track.

As Fox leaned against the wall and lifted his knee to his chest, he looked over at Bill.

"Fara is _not_ a bimbo," Fox retorted.

"Lets see," Bill mused, "She's a materialistic, shallow sex-hound that loves to get into trouble because she knows her daddy's going to bail her out of anything. _What_ is she, then?"

"Fun," Fox smiled, "Not long-term fun, but fun nonetheless. She's kind of like a fire: you stay too close for too long, or get too close, period, you get burned."

"All women worth spending time with are like that," Bill smiled crookedly, curling his leg behind his back, pushing his foot with his hand so that his heel touched the base of his tail.

"I guess so," Fox murmured.

"Fox, that's your problem," Bill griped as another squad full of cadets began to round the track, "You _do _realize that if you asked around you'd learn that half the girls in the Academy have a thing for you? I'm willing to bet if you went out on the street, you'd find a few more of them. You need to fool around more."

"What, and be some tool-bag clown like Caruso?" Fox inquired, gesturing to the golden-eyed panther running in the other squad.

"Forget Panther," Bill growled, "He's a _freshman_. By most standards, he's not even a _person_. It's in his nature to be a conceited, cocky little douche, but I'm sure it'll pass. What I'm saying is that you need to get some action. Use that potential. Fuck some bitches."

Fox gave Bill a look.

"One day, you're going to look back on yourself right now and say, 'Oh, so that's why I'm alone!'" Fox said.

"One day, you're going to grow a hormone and realize how much ass you could've gotten aside from little Miss Moneybags," Bill mumbled.

As the squad began to finish stretching, Bill whispered, "So, listen, back on-topic: what was the homework from last night?"

"I thought you needed to copy it." Fox chided.

"Yeah, smartass, but I gotta know what it was first!" Bill snapped.

"It was just reading," Fox sighed, "Basic combat maneuvers, Immelmann turns and barrel rolls."

"Do you think we're going to have to try it out in the simulator?" Bill inquired.

"I don't think they'd put _sophomores_ into real fighters, do you?" Fox replied.

"If they do, it's bad news for you," Bill grunted.

"That's not funny," Fox growled sternly.

"I know, but what are you going to tell them when they _do_ put you in the pilot's seat? Plead childhood phobia?" Bill questioned.

"It's not like it _just _happened; it was _years_ ago, Bill, people get over it." Fox breathed.

"Yeah, but in those years, how many times have you asked your dad for another spin in the Arwing?" Bill added.

Fox stared into the wall.

"I _haven't_ asked him," Fox muttered.

"Asked 'im _what_, Cadet McCloud?" a harsh voice behind them interrogated.

Fox and Bill cringed and did an about-face, knowing what they would see when they turned around.

Standing behind them in a dark blue uniform was Sergeant Gulo Brass, the drill sergeant of the sophomore battalion at the Cornerian Flight Academy.

The dull yellow and brown furred wolverine regarded them with a single raised eyebrow and a mildly sadistic glare.

Fox and Bill stood at attention, staring straight forward as the Sergeant came up to them with an acid frown on his face.

"Were ye going ta ask 'im why ye're such a pathetic fucking maggot?" Brass hissed "Were ye going ta ask 'im out on a date, ye furry little faggot?"

"Sir, no sir!" Fox replied, trying not to laugh at the fact that the sergeant had rhymed, probably unintentionally.

"Because unless he told ye ta eat yer own guts, and ye were about ta ask fer seconds, I think ye and Cadet Grey here are in a world 'o shit fer dickin' around like a couple 'a schoolgirls back there on that five-k," Sergeant Brass snarled in his rolling accent.

"Listen up, Cadets!" Brass roared, stepping back, "Cadet McCloud thinks that just because his father's a fancy war hero that entitles him ta a free ride! And Cadet Grey here is so in love with Cadet McCloud that he can't keep his hands off his ass! Both 'a them have disrespected yer squad and I! They had the chance ta' do this because ye aren't _motivatin' _'em enough! Therefore, I am going ta' punish all o' ye for what one o' _them _has done! The rest o' ye will run while McCloud and Grey here spar in the ring. If McCloud wins, he'll watch while the rest o' ye do an Indian run fer a half hour! If Grey wins, _he'll_ watch while the rest o' ye do an Indian run fer a half hour! Understand? Go!"

Fox and Bill both received murderous glares from all thirteen of the remaining cadets as they took off running down the track, once more in formation.

"Do I have ta personally shin-kick the both o' ye ta' get ye movin?!" Sergeant Brass barked.

"Sir, no sir!" they said in unison, taking off.

The vulpine and canine both walked past Sergeant Brass quickly, staring at the ground, across the track and into the center field, in which was a platform boxing ring with holographic boundary lines on all four sides. Suits of protective headgear and gloves rested against the sides of the platform. Fox and Bill unzipped the jackets of their track suits, underneath which they both wore white tee shirts, and slipped a pair of gloves over their paws and headgear over their ears.

"Let's go, ladies!" Brass snarled, "Yer fellow cadets are payin' fer every second ye waste!"

"Goddamn it, Bill," Fox whispered, "I _knew_ this would happen."

"Oh, so _I'm_ the bad guy here?" Bill asked incredulously as they walked up the stairs, "Is that what you're saying?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm saying!" Fox snapped as they passed through the holographic boundary lines, traveling to the center of the ring and facing each other.

"We're in this situation because you _refuse _to be ignored," Fox continued.

"Well then maybe you shouldn't ignore me all the time, I might say something you need to hear," Bill responded icily.

"Like _what_?" Fox demanded curtly.

"Like, maybe if you pull that stick out of your ass, you might learn to have some fun, instead of just being an asshole most of the time," Bill shrugged, putting up his fists.

"Well, according to you, Bill, everyone's got a stick up their ass, so maybe _you're _the one with the problem," Fox came back coolly.

"Oh, for fucks sake…" Bill growled, taking a swing at Fox's head.

Fox bent backwards, avoiding the punch, then stepping forward and jabbing at Bill's side.

Bill let out a gasp of shock, then nailed Fox in his cheek with another quick swing.

Fox stumbled backwards, feeling a dull sting in his face, though his headgear had absorbed most of it.

"Do you always have to be so goddamn _responsible _all the time?!" Bill snarled, "You always have to be _right_ and you always have to have _everything _follow _your_ rules!"

Bill stepped towards Fox to deliver another blow, only to have Fox sidestep around and slug Bill in the stomach once again. Bill clenched his stomach, looking up as Fox knocked him in the forehead with a hard right hook.

Bill flew backwards, falling on his ass, stunned.

"You're not responsible at all! How do you expect to live up to _any_thing that your parents want for you if all you do is fuck off?!" Fox barked.

Bill looked up at Fox, getting to his feet. Fox stood at the ready, his fists up to protect his face. Bill swiftly struck at Fox's face, a hit that was blocked but still distracted Fox enough for Bill to drive his other fist into Fox's stomach. The wind was knocked out of Fox's lungs as Bill delivered an uppercut to Fox's bottom jaw, whiplashing his neck and throwing him back.

"I don't _worry_ about it!" Bill spat, "You could stand to do the same. You blame yourself for things that aren't even your fault and you worry about things that aren't in your control. In case you haven't noticed, _I'm_ not the one preoccupied with my _parents_ here!"

Fox gritted his teeth through the intense stinging in his jaw and neck, his anger fueling his rise to his feet. Fox leapt forward and struck one, two, three times at Bill's head, punching into a block each time but not caring. He stepped back just in time to avoid another shot at his face from Bill, then back forward to hit the canine in his upper chest.

"You've got no idea what you're talking about!" Fox yelled, punching again and again at Bill's defenses, driving him further back, "You don't know what I've been through and you don't know what I've got to deal with."

Bill grumbled and shoved upward into Fox's elbows, pushing Fox's arms up and pulling his left fist back. Before Fox could bring up a block again, Bill's fist smashed into Fox's jaw, twisting his head to the side as Bill's right fist punched into Fox's shoulder.

The dull throbbing pain in his face and the taste of blood in his mouth made the fall backwards almost unnoticeable, until the reverse polarity field at the boundaries of the ring threw him back into the center. Fox stumbled forward and landed on his knees.

"You've got to deal with living up to someone, Fox. I know how it feels," Bill sympathized, not attacking, "But you can't torture yourself over things you can't change and how you think someone would judge what you're doing. You're _not_ and you _can't_ be James McCloud!"

Fox glared up at Bill, lashing out with his leg and sweeping Bill's legs out from under him. Bill fell onto his back with a rough thud and Fox leapt across the floor on all fours as Bill tried to get up. He put Bill into a chokehold, compressing Bill's neck in the crook of his arm, causing Bill to gasp out in panic.

"Well what choice do I have?!" Fox hissed into Bill's ear.

Bill gagged, and then tapped the floor.

Fox released the canine and stood to his feet as Bill collapsed to the floor of the ring, coughing. Fox breathed hard, looking down at his friend, and extending a paw. Bill took Fox's hand and he helped the dog up, still breathing raggedly. As Bill massaged his neck and looked at Fox with a mix of pity and disappointment, Fox noticed Sergeant Brass standing at the edge of the ring. The wolverine disengaged the polarity field and stepped into the ring silently, the holographic borders flickering off.

"Good fight ladies," Brass growled, somewhat quieter than usual.

Fox's brow furrowed, noticing something. Sergeant Brass sounded much less harsh and intimidating than he usually sounded.

"Grey, ye go an' join the others. McCloud, ye're wanted in the Commandant's office," Brass rumbled.

"What for?" Fox inquired, confused.

"Jest go, son, don't ask," Brass said firmly, yet with a touch of gentleness.

Bill looked at Fox, puzzled, but turned and ran off with a leer from Sergeant Brass. Fox walked slowly past Brass, down the stairs of the ring and stripped off his gloves and headgear, grabbing up his track suit jacket and slipping it over his arms.

He walked over the track and approached the doors to the sports complex, which slid open automatically and opened into a palatial marble hall with grayish columns and high ceilings like a sloping cathedral. At the end of the hall, mounted high above the massive durasteel main doors of the Cornerian Flight Academy was the large crest of the school, the silhouette of a canine head glaring outwards, in between a pair of large, steel wings. Along the hall were multiple portraits, tapestries and holograms of Academy faculty, distinguished alumni, and famous (mostly ancient) battles in Cornerian military history. Somewhere in this hall was a portrait of Fox's father, commemorating his dedicated independent service to Corneria.

Fox traveled down the great hall of the Academy, his footsteps echoing throughout the cavernous space and emphasizing his solitude. The Commandant's office was further back, near the end of the great hall, where a massive window several meters high and wide offered a massive panoramic view of the green Cornerian countryside, with the steeped towers and buildings of Anaxes, the central military city of Corneria, in the far distance. As Fox stared out the window, he could see the rushing dots of air traffic bustling through the skies and glittering spires of Anaxes, and the larger blobs of space freighters dropping slowly out of orbit.

Fox turned, approaching an ornate wooden door covered in detailed carvings of knots and spirals. Near the bottom of the door was a carved depiction of the Great Gift, the myth in the old Lylatian religion when the God Lyla, after creating the Lylat System and all of its living things, bestowed a precious few species the ability of speech. As always, Lyla was depicted as a robed canine of indeterminate species, with six wings spreading out from Her back as She offered the gift of speech, represented by a heart in Her hand, to a group of dogs, cats, foxes, birds and rabbits. In the edge of the carving was a group of monkeys, wolves, reptiles and rats, hiding amongst the trees, somewhat uninvited recipients of the Great Gift.

Fox knocked on the door with a rap of his knuckles.

"Cadet McCloud? Come in," a reedy voice from inside called.

Fox gripped the iron handle and pulled, the door groaning on its old steel hinges. He stepped inside to the Commandant's office, a lavish, plush space with white carpets and red-brown wooden walls. A number of artifacts and keepsakes were stored in racks and bookshelves along the office, including an old beam arquebus (a primitive form of the blasters used in modern times) once used by the Cornerian Empire that the Cornerian Commonwealth had replaced nearly two hundred years ago, and an even older metal sword that Fox couldn't identify. At a decorative ebony desk with ivory trim sat a middle-aged grey Schnauzer in a red officer's uniform. The plaque on his desk read "Commandant Ulysses Lazard".

Sitting across from the desk in one of the chairs was a young badger in a trim black suit that matched the black and white coloring of his fur.

"Sir," Fox saluted the Commandant, standing at attention.

"Sit down, McCloud," Commandant Lazard nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from his desk, next to the badger.

Cautiously eyeing the badger, Fox slowly sat down.

"Sir?" Fox inquired.

Lazard smiled softly.

"Fox," Lazard began, taking Fox by surprise that he used his first name, "This is Agent Rupert Frost with the Commonwealth Security Bureau. He works as a liaison between Team StarFox and General Pepper over at the Ministry of Defense."

Fox's face fell.

A sense of dread rose up in his chest.

Suddenly, all the pain from Fox's sparring match with Bill went numb.

Lazard looked down briefly, then back up at Fox. The Commandant seemed to know what Fox was afraid of hearing, and the look on the Schnauzer's face offered him no reassurance to the contrary.

"Fox, it's about your father," Commandant Lazard said bluntly.

The next few words changed Fox's life forever.

* * *

-Don't worry, there's an epilogue that'll wrap it all up nicely coming very soon, probably tomorrow. In the meantime, tell me what you liked and didn't like about this, please.


	8. I'm Not a Hero

-**I'm Not a Hero**-

Fox didn't answer when the house's televox chimed, alerting him to an incoming call. Instead, he continued to stare down at the silver pilot's badge in his hands, worn and scratched after years of being pinned on his father's jacket. Eventually, the televox clicked and began recording a voice message from the caller.

"Fox," Bill's raspy voice called from the speaker, echoing from the other room, "Look, I'm sorry, man, I…really, really am. Your… Dad was a hero to all of us, so I can't imagine what you're going through right now. But, I might be able to uh, help…if you talked to me, you know? I haven't heard from you since the memorial service and, uh…"

Fox merely blinked, still looking down at the badge, his expression unchanging as Bill tried to choose the right words.

"I understand if you need a few days; you deserve them," Bill's voice said slowly, "But, I really think you should think about coming back to the Academy. I'm sure they'll let you back, like, they'd probably understand… I don't _want_ to sound like I don't care or anything, because that's not it, it's just that, uh… I don't think that dropping out and sitting at your dad's place all alone is going to help you cope with this. It's sort of like, if you've got a job to do and you're around people that care, you won't spend so much time thinking about the things that are hurting you. It makes them easier to deal with."

A moment of silence passed, during which Bill's uneasy, raspy breathing could just barely be heard over the voice message box's speaker.

"But, you know, that's your choice man. Whatever you feel like is what's important," Bill intoned awkwardly, "But, whatever you do, can you just gimme a call, shoot me a holo or something, anything? Talk to me; maybe tell your best friend how you're feeling? Can you just…tell me that you're going to be all right? Yeah, I…guess I'll talk to you later then, Fox. Hang in there."

A quiet click sounded as the connection terminated. Fox breathed in, and then out, clutching the aviator's badge in his palm as he closed his eyes.

Deal with?

Be all right?

Hang _in_ there?

What the hell was _that _supposed to mean?

How was he supposed to deal with being completely alone? How could he expect to hang in there when his entire world just suddenly shattered?

Fox's entire life had been defined by living his father's dream. Graduating from the Flight Academy, serving a few years in the Army, then training with his father and eventually leading Team StarFox himself. In every vision that Fox had of the future, James McCloud served an integral part. His father would always be there to guide him, even though it would be nearly impossible to live up to his father's legendary reputation. Fox was prepared to be a disappointment. He knew it was inevitable, but it didn't matter because his Dad would always be there to do the things that Fox couldn't. James could've saved the people that Fox couldn't, could have been the hero that Fox could never hope to be. Maybe, at some point, Fox would've been able to stand amongst his father as a hero, never hoping to surpass him but still being an acceptable understudy. But he could only hope for that after years of training and fighting at his father's side as a member of StarFox. And that would never happen now.

Fox couldn't even cry right now. He'd done enough of that in the previous days. Now he just felt empty. Like someone had ripped out a vital part of him that made him feel, leaving just a dull ghost of pain under blankets of paralyzing numbness.

The pain of never being able to see his father again, without ever once having felt like he truly made him proud, had bored into him so deeply and robbed him of so much that all Fox was left with was a quiet, shell-shocked feeling of _What now? _

Fox ran his index finger over the grooves in the badge's wings, then the olive leaves and finally over the bold letter C in the center.

The badge was all that Fox had left of his father, and it was barely anything, a vague abstraction of all the great things that defined James McCloud. In a way, the badge represented that future he'd hoped for at his father's side, once grand and significant but now a mere reminder of all he'd lost.

Fox gritted his teeth together and let out a shuddering, laborious breath.

"System on," Fox croaked.

"**Activating**," the holoprojector in the center of the room responded, flickering to life and displaying the stylized logo of the Lylat News Network. The hologram then displayed the three-dimensional image of a grey furred male feline in a tight-fitting blue suit, sitting at a news desk.

"Good afternoon, Lylat," the feline intoned, "I'm Francis Masuka, and this is the LNN Update. More news on the Team StarFox controversy that has been dominating the InterLink and much of the Cornerian Parliament for the past week: Ever since Team StarFox member Peppy Hare returned from a mission gone bad on Venom that resulted in the death of StarFox leader James McCloud and the defection of StarFox member Pigma Dengar, all of Corneria City has been abuzz with discussion. The Venomian government has issued several statements alleging that the famed mercenary team was hired by the Cornerian military to spy on key facilities on Venom, which Parliament has denied ever approving. The source of much of the controversy is the fact that Parliament has officially prohibited both the CSB and the Army from any acts of espionage or surveillance on Venom, along with the fact that StarFox is a private organization. The question for the past week has been whether Parliament hired Team StarFox in violation of it's own policy against espionage, the Army hired them in violation of Parliament's orders, or if StarFox acted independently. In a press conference yesterday, representatives from both the Prime Minister's office and the Ministry of Defense denied hiring Team StarFox to perform any such surveillance work, a claim which Venomian officials have disputed. A statement is being given by Prime Minister Walter Neville himself, at this moment, in regards to what, if any, Corneria's response will be to Venom's murder of James McCloud and the torture of both the StarFox leader and his accomplice, Peppy Hare. We're going live to the pressroom at the Palace of Churchill in Corneria City."

At the mention of his father's murder, there was a twang in Fox's heart. Otherwise, he felt barely anything from watching the hologram as it shifted from the LNN news room to a display of Walter Neville, his light grey fur, wrinkled bulldog skin and dark suit giving him an air of officious authority.

"Thank you," The Prime Minister grunted, beginning, "In the past few years, we in the Lylat System have dealt with some changes. We've had to make room for a new, powerful player in the interstellar community. Venom is a world of opportunities, home to a great many ideas that I believe the Cornerian Commonwealth could learn to adopt at some point in the future, bringing together all of the species of this great system together as one. However, we must also learn to come together on a planetary level, to coexist with one another, and recognize every planet's right to secure itself. We cannot expect the two-hundred years of interstellar peace that we have been blessed with to continue if we do not trust, cooperate, and, on occasion, appease each other."

Fox closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing what that meant.

"Though Team StarFox has served Corneria in the past, we must remember that they are not a part of this government, and are not under the direct command of this government. And though they have served the Lylat System in the past, we must remember that interstellar peace and order is more important than any one person's life. It is the policy of this government to refrain from all acts of surveillance and espionage towards Venom, in the hopes that we may take the first step towards relieving the species tensions amongst the races of our two planets. Therefore, when Team StarFox trespassed onto Venomian territory, and were subsequently captured, they were not acting according to the wishes of this government, but rather against them. Despite the protests of certain naysayers, and the perhaps extreme treatment that the Venomian government gave the captured StarFox team members, it is the decision of this government that no sanctions, resolutions, or retaliatory actions of any kind will be taken against Venom, in the hopes of continued peace and goodwill amongst our two planets. Thank you."

"System off," Fox whispered.

"**Affirmative. Shutting down**," the holoprojector replied as it flickered off.

Fox shivered, looking down and putting his hand on his forehead.

"The Prime Minister wouldn't let General Pepper send anyone from the Army or the CSB to investigate Venom," Peppy's hoarse voice explained from behind Fox.

Fox turned his head to see the rabbit hobble into the room, bandages over several parts of his body and a crutch under his right arm. There was a haunted look in Peppy's eyes, one that hadn't been there before he'd left for Venom.

"So he sent us," Peppy explained, sitting down next to Fox, "The General trusted us, knew we had the skills, and knew we knew the risks. There are just some things that you never really see coming until they hit you, though."

"Like Pigma?" Fox murmured.

Peppy nodded solemnly, "Yeah, like Pigma."

Fox just shook his head.

"So… After all that, after all you've told them, they're still going to do _nothing_?" Fox whispered, "_Why?_"

Peppy smiled vaguely and looked down, then said, "It's not as simple as just one thing. The General and the Prime Minister dislike each other, but the PM's too stubborn to fire him and George is too stubborn to quit. So the PM just makes his life a living hell and refuses to listen to anything he says, even if it makes complete sense. Some people in Parliament are hard core speciesists and just want to get all of the apes and lizards and rats off of Corneria, no matter where they end up going, or whose side they go over to. Others are paid off by Venom itself. But you want to know what _I _think the biggest reason is?"

Fox's only answer was the mildest of shrugs.

"They're afraid," Peppy said softly, putting a hand on Fox's back, "First, they thought they found an easy answer to the whole civil rights thing, so they gave Andross control of Venom. That way the apes and all the others were _his_ problem, not theirs. Then they realized what Andross _was_, and it scared the shit out of them. So they spent the past few years living in denial about what he could do, rather than taking care of the problem and dealing with the fall-out when it would've been relatively easy. Now, when it's glaring them all right in the face, they're just so scared shitless of what's coming that they'll do anything to delay it instead of face it head-on. They've all gone so long without war that they've forgotten what it takes to preserve _peace_. Sometimes, the only way to protect peace is to stand up to the person threatening it, before they become a real problem. But they can't do that, and Andross is going to be knocking on their door by the time they realize what a mistake they've made."

"So…" Fox trailed off, his throat dry, "You're saying it's unavoidable? War?"

Peppy nodded.

"I think so," Peppy said, "It's coming; and you can either run away from it or you can face it head-on. That's what your father would've done. It's what he would've wanted _you_ to do."

Fox shook just a little bit. Peppy patted Fox's back lightly.

"How do we _face _it, Peppy? How do we prepare for _that_?" Fox inquired, at a loss.

"I'm thinking of putting together a new team. One your father would've been proud of. One that'll be there when the time comes," Peppy explained.

Fox looked at Peppy, confused.

"And you want me to be _part_ of it?" Fox asked, not understanding.

Peppy smiled and shook his head.

"I want you to _lead _it, Fox," Peppy said.

A sense of befuddlement overcame Fox, soon replaced by denial.

Fox shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Peppy, no, I… I can't do that," Fox stuttered out in horror, "I'm _fifteen_, I haven't even sat in a real _cockpit_ by myself, I--"

"That's why I can teach you," Peppy insisted, "I didn't say the war was tomorrow. We've just got to prepare like it is. You'll be ready."

Fox's jaw went slack, his eyes still wide, finding it ever more and more difficult to speak.

"Peppy!" Fox protested, coming out more like a wheeze, "I—I can't do this! I'm not a leader. I'm—I'm not a hero. I'm not… I'm not…_him_."

Fox looked down at the aviator's badge, still in his palm. A single tear dropped out of his eye, dripping onto the badge, and Fox quickly wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm.

He _couldn't_ cry.

His father wouldn't cry, so he shouldn't either.

"Fox," Peppy said softly, with the same warm tone of voice that James McCloud always used, "You've got focus. You've got drive. You're cool under pressure. You have a commitment to what you believe in. You have a _heart. _And you've got _talent_. If you don't believe me about anything else, believe me when I say that you got James' genes for those last two things, and then some. I've seen your simulator results from the Academy, and I know how much you cared about him. You've got everything you need to become a _fantastic_ pilot. All you need to do is become one."

Peppy gingerly took the aviator's badge out of Fox's palm, opening the safety pin and lifting Fox's chin up so that he was looking at him eye to eye.

"So, no, Fox. You're not him," Peppy whispered, pinning the badge to the red scarf around Fox's neck, "But I see in you the potential to be even _better_. So did he."

There was nothing but truth in the rabbit's eyes. Fox's breathing slowed, and he slowly felt the numbness beginning to ebb away, the emptiness of his future filling up with the possibility of something else.

"Nothing would make James more proud than for you to be there when the galaxy needs you. It's all that he ever wanted for you," Peppy said, "And now that all those butchers think they're maybe a few years from having the whole Lylat System up on a silver platter; after what they took from you, I think you more than anyone else in the universe deserves to be leading us on that day we stand up to them head-on, look them in the eye and tell them who we _are_."

Fox smiled, and suddenly he didn't feel alone anymore. It was like, somehow, his father was still with him, telling him like he always did: "Never give up. Trust your instincts."

"Now who are we?" Peppy demanded, smiling fiercely.

"We're the good guys," Fox answered.

"We're the heroes," Peppy added.

"We're StarFox."

* * *

The End. Cue "Knights of Cydonia" by Muse. I hope you thought this was as much fun as I did. I liked examining and developing Fox and Wolf's early childhoods, and I kind of think it's interesting how the set-up is for the both of them: it's centered on James McCloud. It makes me really think about writing a story or two about Wolf and Fox's first few meetings, since I'm sure there's a lot of father dynamics in there motivating the action even before it begins. Wolf idolized James and probably saw him as a kind of father figure, (especially given that Hank O'Donnell was kind of a schmuck) and he's hoping that Fox will provide the same challenge that James did. Personally, I think deep down, Wolf's early hate for Fox was fueled by envy that Fox got the father that Wolf always wanted. On the other hand, Fox is always feeling like he's got to live up to what James represented, this amazing hero, and he probably sees Wolf (and of course Andross) as representative of the evil that he's got to take down in order to become a hero, not only to the Lylat System, but to himself and the memory of his father. I'm giving some serious thought to writing another prequel story, taking place during the Lylat Wars that'll give some more background on the history of the Lylat System (or at least my version of it) and of course detail the first time StarFox and StarWolf crossed laser beams. Or, I could always write a sequel to "A Great Day to Die", since I do have a pretty good idea of what I want to do for it. Or both. Or none. I dunno. Tell me what you think. If you think you'd like to read more, leave me some praise. If not, then I guess it's sayonara until next time. See ya around.


End file.
